


Consequences

by Lady_Sci_Fi



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-11 20:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3332534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Sci_Fi/pseuds/Lady_Sci_Fi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur annoyed the Goblin King, and now he pays for it. Though not all consequences are bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Starts off with the extended Goblin Town scene from An Unexpected Journey Extended Edition

“We were on the road, well it's not so much a road as a path. Actually it's not even that come to think of it. It's more like a track. Anyway, point is, we were on this road, like a path, like a track, and then we weren't. Which is a problem, because we were supposed to be in Dunland last Tuesday." Bofur glanced behind him for help in stalling for time.

Dori spoke up, "Visiting distant relations."

"Some inbreds on my mother's side," Bofur continued. "And-"

“Shut up!” the Goblin King roared.

Bofur slightly shrank back. He opened his mouth again for a second, but closed it quickly, deciding that aggravating the king further than he already had would probably not be in his best interest. He glanced around, noticing the goblins surrounding him and the rest of Thorin’s Company appeared more openly afraid than the Dwarves did. Not that that observation mattered at all, they were still at the mercy of these malformed creatures, and despite the momentary show of fear at the king’s outburst, the goblins showed only loyalty. Which was bad news for the dwarves.

The king threatened to torture them, starting with Ori, and Thorin stepped forward. Bofur took a few steps back to be near his brother and cousin. In the conversation between Thorin and the king, the question of who exactly was hunting them was finally answered, but it was made clear the king was going to hold them here until Azog the Defiler arrived.

“But, until Azog gets here to… collect you, I feel like being entertained,” the goblin king said, spreading his arms wide and his mouth twisting into a sickening smirk.

Bofur felt a shudder go down his spine, his arms unconsciously reaching out to either side of him and held them low in front of Bombur and Bifur. It wouldn’t do any good if they were targeted, but it was the only thing he could do.

A yelp and shouts behind him made Bofur turn. A few eager goblins grabbed Ori and yanked him forward from Dori’s grasp. Dori and Nori reached out for their brother, but both were quickly jumped by more of the goblins. Everyone in the company made a grab for Ori, but gnashing teeth and swiping claws kept them away.

Bofur’s heart leapt up into his throat as Ori let out a little cry as he was dragged past Thorin and shoved towards the goblin king. He tripped and fell to his hands and knees. He raised his head for a split-second, then forced his gaze to the uneven wooden slats under his hands.

The king chuckled at the sight of the trembling young dwarf. His gaze flickered over the dwarf company and chuckled again at Dori and Nori practically buried in small goblins, and the rest being held back with protesting shouts. “My my, you’re all quite eager. But what made you think I wanted that one?”

The goblin that had spoken earlier and seemed like the second-in-command replied, “You said you wanted the youngest.”

“Showing some initiative, huh? Put him back.”

Ori, still frozen in fear, didn’t move on his own, his legs barely working the goblins picked him up and shoved him back to the group. Thorin and Balin caught Ori, then gently pushed him behind and into the middle of the group. Dori and Nori were let up and firmly held onto their brother tightly.

Bofur barely had time to appreciate the relief at Ori being returned unharmed when the king stated, “The one with the stupid hat.” He froze, mouth hanging slightly open. He didn’t need to look around to know who the king was talking about, he was the only one who wore a hat, one that he had heard called stupid before.

Bifur and Bombur grabbed Bofur’s arms as goblins pushed past Thorin and Balin and grabbed at the front of his clothes. Bombur’s grip on him was broken, and Bofur instantly punched the goblin who had separated them. Bifur’s Khuzdul curses broke off into a short yelp as two goblins jumped on him.

Once free of his brother and cousin, Bofur was easily yanked forward. Two pairs of snatching hands found his scarf and pulled it taut around his neck. His inhale was cut short with a choking sound. His hands went to shove whatever goblin he could get to away, but they held fast, and he still ended up being yanked past Thorin, just as Ori had been a few moments ago.

Unlike Ori, Bofur was able to keep to his feet when he was shoved forward. He straightened and looked up to the seated goblin king. He had already stood up to the grotesque ruler once, he could certainly do so again.

“Do you know why I chose you to entertain me?” the king asked, a hardly-concealed delighted smirk on his face.

Bofur put on a little smile of his own, “I wouldn’t be one to presume what’s going on in your head.”

A flicker of annoyance passed over the king’s face before the smirk returned. “I do love the spirited ones. So much more fun when they break.”

Bofur stilled on the last word, and closed his mouth, the small smile fading.

“Oh, nothing to say now, have you? Learning that now won’t save you. In fact…” the king stepped down from his throne and approached Bofur, only needing a few steps to do so.

Bofur’s eyes followed the two-pronged top of the king’s staff as the goblin lowered it until it was level with his head. Bofur swallowed, squeezing his eyes tightly shut when he saw the staff stab at him.

It took Bofur a couple of seconds to realize that he had not been skewered. He hesitantly opened his eyes and saw his hat balanced on one of the prongs before the king flicked it over his head and into the crowd of dwarves.

“In fact, master dwarf, I am looking forward to making you squawk.”

There was no warning as the thick staff suddenly smashed into Bofur’s side, sending him sprawling. He landed on his shoulder a few meters away and rolled to a stop on his back. That had hurt. He barely heard the shouts of protests from his friends over the sound of the wood creaking in time with huge footsteps. An aching side was going to be the least of his worries, he knew.

“I could send your friends away during this, but there’s nothing like performing for a captive audience.” The king chuckled at his own word-play.

Bofur turned over onto his side, intent to get to his feet and not take this laying down. That idea quickly went away as the heavy end of the staff came down on his leg. He cried out and folded his leg up to his chest to clutch at it.

“That didn’t take too long,” the king commented.

A meaty hand grabbed Bofur’s shin. Bofur let go of his hurting leg to get any grip on the wooden floor that he could and get away. His efforts were useless, and the king pulled him backwards, then straight up, resulting in him being upside down a few meters in the air.

Bofur still tried to struggle even though the king’s one-handed grip around his leg wasn’t going to be broken. The only thing he succeeded in was swinging, his jacket and scarf hanging off him. His scarf partially obscured his view, but what he could see, this close to the great goblin’s face, wasn’t pleasant.

The king watched him struggle for a moment more before flinging him away. Bofur only had a couple seconds to realize he was flying through the air before he crashed into a thick post near the edge of the platform. He heavily dropped to the floor. He immediately tried to get up, but his legs crumpled under him. He did manage to push himself up to his knees in time to see the pronged part of the king’s staff come at him. The sharp horns went on either side of his torso and lifted, settling uncomfortably under his arms.

There was no way to wriggle free as the king dragged the staff up the post, forcing Bofur up along it as well. The dwarf started kicking out when is feet left the floor. The goblin king wasn’t close enough to make any contact, but Bofur needed to do something to show he wasn’t going to be submissive.

A high-pitched squeak escaped from Bofur’s throat as the space between himself and the base of the prongs suddenly closed, the king shoving the staff past the wooden post behind him. The top of the skull pressed hard against his chest, his breathing abruptly becoming shallow. His hands instantly came up to grab the prongs and push it away, but they were too smooth to find any purchase. He tried to fit a hand between his body and the skull, but there was no space at all.

Bofur’s eyes widened as the prongs pushed further into the wood behind him, the staff now compressing his chest. He could feel his ribs beginning to ache. Any more pressure and they would certainly start cracking.

The king made a flourishing movement with his hands as he let go of the staff, leaving it stuck into the post and Bofur helplessly hanging from it. The dwarf once again tried kicking, but the movement only added more stress to his ribs and he couldn’t stop the whine from passing through his lips.

“He mewls like a kitten,” the goblin king chuckled. “Can’t say that does anything for the reputation of the toughness of dwarves.” He stepped to the side to allow the other dwarves a view.

The company surged forward at the sight of their helpless friend, though they were easily held back by the mob of goblins. Bofur couldn’t help but try to give them a quick reassuring smile. As long as they would be left alone until they could find a way out… Then he noticed one of them was missing. There was no hobbit among them. He knew Bilbo had fallen into the chasm with them, but where was he now? Had he gotten away, fallen off one of the treacherous walkways, or-

Bofur’s train of thought was cut short by a pair of clawed hands grabbing his legs as a goblin clambered up the post. Bofur managed to kick out and dislodge the creature, but another replaced it. This one he grabbed to shove away, but a third bit into his arm from behind with surprisingly strong strength.

Then nothing but goblins filled Bofur’s vision as too many scampered up the post and staff to scratch, bite, and punch him. He barely heard the cries and protests of his friends over the chatter of the goblins and his own whimpers.

A sudden backwards yank on his scarf instantly put an end to any resistance Bofur was putting up. If it had been difficult to breathe with the skulled staff pressing hard against his chest, it was impossible now. His eyes widened as he felt the ends of the scarf wrap around the post and pull tighter around his neck.

“Back off, except you two,” boomed the delighted voice of the goblin king.

The mas of goblins seemed to melt off of Bofur, but whoever had his scarf from behind still held tightly. With his arms free of the creatures, his hands went up to try to pull the wool away from his neck. His vision started to grey, and only when he suddenly dropped a few inches and the scarf somehow got even tighter around his neck did he realize the king had pulled the staff from the wood. There was no real relief of pressure from his chest, because he still could not breathe.

Black spots exploded against his grey-clouded vision. The only thing he heard now was the rush of blood in his ears and his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn’t stop his last coherent thought being that there were certainly better ways to go out on this quest than hung by his own scarf deep underground with goblins laughing at him. The haze in his mind quickly darkened…

“Breathe, laddie!”

The command somehow got through the inky blackness. All Bofur could manage was a small gasped breath, but it was enough to get him to start deep and shuddering breaths. He slowly became aware that while the scarf was still around his neck, it was no longer restricting. He lay on his front, wood pressing into his cheek and fingers. When had he gotten down from the post?

Bofur managed to roll over onto his back, relieving a bit of the pressure on his chest. He blinked slowly, staring up at the dark expanse of the cavern ceiling high above. His still-dazed mind got lost in the play of lit fires against the shadows.

A cry of his name was the only warning Bofur got before a club was smashed down on his torso. His long hoarse cry seemed to echo around him as he curled up on his side and tightly wrapping his arms around his ribcage. He had no time to ride through that wave of pain before the club swung into his spine. The thickness of his clothes seemed to do nothing to protect him from any of the impact, and Bofur cried out as his back arched in response.

Short claws dug into his scalp as thin fingers tangled in his hair, yanking him up to a sitting position by his braids. From there, the goblins pulled him forward and pushed him up to his feet. Bofur tried to punch a few away, but only ended up being propelled forward into the wooden post he had been hung on. He managed to turn his head to the side to take the impact with his shoulder. He nearly fell to his knees, and limply stood, supported by the post.

Hands seized the braid on the back of his head and jerked him back. He ended up on his back, his head bouncing off the floor and dazing him. He came to his senses to find himself held down by all four of his limbs. He kicked out, catching one goblin in the chin, but it was quickly replaced by two more to hold that leg.

“Perhaps I will continue this with the youngest after you’re spent,” the king goaded. “You’re so feisty, I can’t help but wonder how different he’ll be.”

“No, no, no…” Bofur called out. “Don’t touch him!”

The king laughed. “And what would you do about it? The only thing you can do is try to keep me… entertained.”

Bofur grit his teeth. As long as he was conscious, maybe the Goblin King wouldn’t touch Ori. He would force himself to last as long as he possibly could. Better him than Ori… better him than Ori… better him-

The heavy club came down on him, and this time Bofur couldn’t help but let out a scream as something in his chest moved with a sharp clarity that made him nauseous. He couldn’t curl up to protect himself, and by Mahal it hurt to breathe…

One goblin bit his leg as he tried to kick out, tried to do whatever he could to get away. But that pain was quickly drowned out by the club striking the same spot as before. This scream was louder, and Bofur’s entire body spasmed with it. The third time, he nearly blacked out, a long and hoarse scream echoing in his head being what kept him alert.

He closed his eyes as the goblin wielding the club raised it high again. Better him than Ori… Better him than Ori…

“Now now, we don’t want to kill him, not just yet,” the king mockingly chided.

The club came down on Bofur’s other side. Nothing in his chest moved in that sickening way, but that did not stop him from crying out from the pain.

Bofur did not open his eyes when the goblins around him erupted in a gleeful cheer. The goblin king let him know why. “Ah, my fancy toys are arriving. This was only a warm-up, Master Dwarf,” the king stated before singing another horrible song.

A pained sob escaped from Bofur’s mouth and he squeezed his eyes closed tighter. The near-hanging, the breaking of ribs, the beating his torso had taken… all that was only to be the beginning of this? How broken would the actual torture machines leave him?

Then the excited cackles of the goblins turned to something else, and all Bofur heard was “Kill them all!” from the king. He opened his eyes in time to see the club coming down on his face, and raised his arms to block it. The movement left his ribs exposed, and another goblin took the opportunity to kick him. Bofur turned over onto his side, coughing and tasting blood in his mouth.

Bofur felt the pull on the back of his jacket to turn him back over. He tried pushing the person away, but he was too weak. He turned his head to see a flash of sharp metal in a goblin’s hand.

That flash was drowned out by the brilliant and blinding blue-white light that filled the cavern. A powerful wind accompanied it, blowing Bofur’s raised head back down to the floor. In the resulting silence, all he could hear were his own whimpers.

Bofur could not find the strength to move, not until he heard Gandalf shouting “Fight! Fight!” He turned onto his front, doing his best to ignore the protest of his injured chest.

Bofur had gotten partway up to his knees when two pairs of hands gripped his arms and pulled him up. Fili turned to protect him, slicing two goblins across the stomach. Gloin pressed Bofur’s mattock into Bofur’s shaking hands and said, “We have to run. Can you do it?”

Run? He could barely breathe while standing still, how was he going to run? He swallowed, nearly gagging on the iron taste of blood in his mouth, and nodded. He would have to run if he wanted to get out of here.

Gandalf rushed past, jolting Bofur forward as all the dwarves started running. Bofur felt someone push his hat down onto his head as they passed. He nearly fainted at the first few steps, but then his survival instinct kicked in, and the agony faded to a manageable level.

The run through the goblin town was a blurred rush, Bofur swinging his mattock at whatever goblin-coloured figures he saw in front of him. He didn’t stop moving, fearing that the pain in his chest would return if he did.

Eventually they did have to stop, when the goblin king burst up through the bridge they were on. Bofur glanced behind, heart sinking as goblins blocked the company from running back the way they had come. He nearly fell as one goblin grabbed his ankle from below. A hammer swung down, crushing the goblin’s head and knocking it away. Bofur glanced up to Ori flashing him a quick smile as he raised Dwalin’s hammer again.

Bofur kept his eyes on the goblins behind them, practically leaning against Oin’s side for support. Then the bridge shook and the wood beneath his feet was no longer as stable. He fell through the first layer of the bridge. He barely felt the hard landing on the second layer because there was the sensation of wind rushing up past him as they fell.

Despite his grip, Bofur rolled forward and ended up on his front. He gritted his teeth, and barely felt the jerky slowing of the bridge structure before it finally stopped as it landed on the cavern ground.

Bofur propped himself up on his elbows to get a look around. Dori and Ori were lying on either side of him. He couldn’t help but to put on a smile and optimistically say, “Well, that could’ve been worse.”

Something heavy landed on top of them, forcing the air from Bofur’s lungs before he could let out a scream at whatever had broken in his chest moved as he was crushed between the bridge layers. There was no warning at the blackness that came over him.


	2. Chapter 2

Bofur came to with a cry, two pairs of hands pulling him out from the rubble. They set him on his feet, but his legs refused to support him. Someone caught him around the middle, and Bofur opened his eyes, his vision now filled with blonde hair.

“We have to keep going, Bofur,” Fili said in his ear. “They’re still coming. We have to keep running.”

Bofur swallowed and locked his knees to stand on his own. He nodded, and someone handed him a tall-handled axe to use as additional support. Bifur took his free hand, and the company kept him in the middle of them all.

Bofur wasn’t sure if the darkness around him was the lack of light in the tunnels, or in his mind, or a combination of the two. All he knew was that he had to keep his legs moving, no matter how much his body wanted to collapse.

Bofur blinked as they emerged out into sunlight filtering through trees. The fresh air filled his lungs as much as his shallow breaths would allow. He nearly tripped over rocks and tree roots as they kept running, the axe and Bifur keeping him upright.

Finally, they stopped. Bofur considered leaning back against a tree and sitting, but he knew that once he sat down, he wouldn’t be able to get back up. Instead, he leaned forward heavily on his axe, watching the others. Bifur left his side to look around.

Gandalf and the rest of the company reached the same realization that Bofur had while being beaten. Bilbo was missing. He could only glare at Thorin as their leader insulted the hobbit, not being able to speak through the pain.

“He’s right here.”

Bofur let out a sigh as Bilbo stepped out from behind a tree. He leaned more heavily on his axe, still unable to speak. He hoped his expression was enough for the hobbit, since he couldn’t rush forward and hug him.

Bilbo’s voice, explaining why he had returned to them, was enough to keep Bofur on his feet. Everyone looked to each other, faces filled with relief at them all escaping the goblins in one piece.

A cacophony of howls made them all tense and look up the way they had come. Nothing was in sight, but they knew orcs and wargs were coming for them.

Once again, Bofur had to push the pain out of his mind as they ran. They reached the edge of a cliff, and Gandalf told them to get into the trees. Bofur stared up at one, how was he going to manage that? Running was bad enough, but climbing?

A warg flew overhead, then skid to a stop and turned in front of him and Bombur. Nori jumped from a low branch and plunged his knives into the head of the beast.

Dawlin shouted from a tree a short distance ahead, “Nori, Bombur, toss Bofur up! I’ll grab him!”

Nori and Bombur pulled Bofur forward and picked him up by the legs to boost him up. Bofur reached up with his axe, and Dwalin seized the head in a strong grip. Bofur couldn’t breathe as he was suspended in the air for a short few seconds. His feet landed on a sturdy branch.

Bombur and Nori found another tree to seek refuge in. Bilbo scampered up after Bofur. Dwalin told them to get higher, pulling on Bofur to help him. Once as safe as he was going to get, Bofur leaned heavily against the trunk of the tree, doing all he could to keep his legs from going out.

His head snapped up too quickly at the gentle hand on his forearm, and he had to blink away the dark spots. “Bofur?” asked the concerned Bilbo. Bofur weakly raised a hand to wave him away. This wasn’t the time to fret over him. Bilbo didn’t let go of his sleeve, and Bofur gave a watery smile and whispered, “I-I’ll be alright.”

Azog, atop a huge white warg, arrived with the rest of his band of orcs. Bofur’s grip tightened on his axe, and Bilbo’s grip on his sleeve tightened.

Then the wargs charged, clawing at the tree trunks and snapping at the branches. A short moment later, the tree began to tip. “Oh no, no, no…” Bofur nearly fell forward to the ground below, but Dwalin’s hand seizing the back of his jacket saved him. The next tree quickly came into focus, and Bofur knew he wouldn’t be able to jump from his injuries.

Dwalin practically threw him into the branches, and he somehow landed on his feet. But this tree had been uprooted as well, and Bofur’s landing on the last tree before the cliff edge was less pleasant, taking a thick branch to the stomach and wrapping himself around it as best he could.

Bofur was only dimly aware of the sudden fire spreading across the ground in front of them, instead focusing on the fire spreading throughout his chest. But he could not let go. He held the axe under the branch with both hands to be more secure.

Then this tree tipped over as well, and his vice-grip on the axe was the only thing that kept him from falling into the darkness far below. His legs swung out, and he cried out at the movement. With his arms stretched over his head, the pain in his chest blossomed. He heard a scream from the other side of the trunk, and Dori yelling for Gandalf. He glanced over, eyes widening at seeing the two brothers in a similar situation as him, Dori holding onto Gandalf’s staff and Ori clinging onto his brother’s leg.

Wargs and fire on one side, empty air and a long drop all around, his grip weakening as he struggled to even breathe… Bofur could not see any real way out of this. He didn’t know how long he hung there, his vision greying and barely aware of everyone else in the tree. The trunk and branches kept shifting and cracking, and Bofur squeezed his eyes shut as his branch creaked.

Bofur gasped as a strong hand reached down and seized the front of his shirt. Then the sound of buffeting wings, high-pitched aggressive calls, cries from wargs, orcs, and dwarves sounded out around him. Bifur pulled him up enough for him to hold onto the trunk. A huge shape flew only a couple meters overhead, and talons grabbing Bombur and knocking Bifur off. Bofur nearly lost his hold on the tree, but forced his protesting body to scramble up, the change of the situation giving him enough drive to do so.

Bofur had just gotten to his feet when tough talons collided into him from the side and wrapped around his middle. The eagle was not as gentle of his body would’ve liked, and then he was falling… only to land hard on his back on the back of another eagle.

Bofur stared up at the sky in mild shock, both hands gripping his axe to his chest. He finally blinked, and turned his head to the side, to see his wild-haired cousin’s back as the other dwarf glanced around the sky. Bofur rolled over onto his side and reached out for him. “B-Bifur,” he managed to call out through his cracking voice.

Bifur turned with wide eyes. He didn’t hesitate to get up onto his knees and crawl over to the younger dwarf. The eagle made a sudden pivot, and Bifur latched onto Bofur’s forearm in case he slipped. Bofur still had the axe in a one-handed vice grip, his muscles refusing to let go.

When the eagle stabilized, Bifur pulled Bofur up along the great creature’s body to the front and coaxed him into sitting up. Bifur covered Bofur’s hand clutching the axe and gently pried open the stiff fingers. They settled just in front of the eagle’s wings, with Bofur sitting behind his cousin, leaning forward against Bifur’s shoulder with his arms around his middle. Bifur slid the axe under his legs and laid one hands over Bofur’s. The other he kept on the feathers in front of him.

Bofur turned his face into Bifur’s neck, trying to figure out the best way to breathe. His chest ached no matter what, but there was no sharp pain when he kept his breaths shallow. He winced and grit his teeth when his body forced him to take a deep breath.

His eyes met Bifur’s when the older dwarf turned his head in concern. He couldn’t keep the pained expression off his face, despite trying to give a little smile. He closed his eyes as Bifur placed his mouth to his forehead for a moment as a gesture of comfort.

The second time Bofur was forced to breathe deeply, Bifur told him to bite his shoulder to get through the pain. Bofur didn’t hesitate and bit down on the thick fabric of the overjacket, a low whine escaping through his lips.

For the most part, Bofur kept his eyes closed as they flew to wherever the eagles were taking them. As much as he wanted to fall into sleep, the movement of the eagle prevented him from doing so. He settled for holding onto Bifur, his face buried in the older dwarf’s neck, biting the strong shoulder when the waves of pain became too much to hold in. The occasional coughs were the worst, and all he could do was tighten his arms around Bifur’s waist during the fits.

Bofur sensed the light beyond his eyelids. The light of morning. They had been flying for hours. He had been quietly suffering for hours. He felt the eagle’s neck dip downward, and its body followed. Bofur winced and squeezed Bifur tighter at the unexpected movement.

Bofur opened his eyes and raised his head at the tap to the back of his hands. The eagles were circling near a tall rock formation in the middle of the valley. He watched as Gandalf, Bilbo, and Thorin were dropped off. Then their eagle landed on the rock and lowered its neck. Bifur slid off first, then immediately turned to help Bofur down.

Bofur’s knees nearly gave out, and Bombur’s arms joined Bifur’s in catching him. The wind from the beat of wings would’ve knocked him over if they hadn’t held him. He locked his knees and half-smiled. “I can stand,” he whispered with a dismissive wave. Then he noticed the rest of the dwarves hurrying to the still form of Thorin. “What happened to him?”

“Tried to take on Azog,” Bombur quietly answered as they joined the rest. “Bilbo was the first to save him.”

Bofur nodded, speaking required breathing deeper than he had been during the flight. He turned to Bifur, and noticed red flecks of dried blood on one side of his neck. He realized that his coughs had come out wet with that slight taste of iron. He had been coughing blood. That couldn’t be good.

Bofur’s attention quickly shifted from his own health at the accusatory tone of Thorin towards Bilbo. He wanted to rush forward to defend his friend, but the short walk and growing pain in his chest prevented him. Bifur gave him the tall axe, and Bofur leaned forward on it.

Thorin did the unexpected and hugged Bilbo, praising him. Bofur glanced around as the eagles took their leave now that they were all safe. Then something else caught everyone’s attention on the horizon. A lone mountain, far in the distance. No one needed to say what it was. Bofur genuinely smiled at the sight of their goal.

Bofur rapidly blinked as his vision began greying. He noticed Bilbo turn to look at the group and focus on him. The hobbit’s mouth opened and said something, but Bofur couldn’t hear it. He staggered backwards, then the ground rushed up to him as he fell into blackness.

 

“Bofur!” Bilbo cried again as Bifur caught Bofur before he could fully fall.

Everyone gathered around the injured dwarf as Bifur gently lowered him to the ground. He and Oin kneeled at his side to examine him. Kili grabbed the axe that had fallen near Bofur and retreated back to give them space.

“What happened to him?” Bilbo asked. “I noticed he was hurt when we were in the trees, but I couldn’t ask him then.”

“Goblins used him as… entertainment,” Nori spat the last word.

“You mean they… they tortured him?” Bilbo received an affirmative quiet as answer.

Oin unwound the scarf from Bofur’s neck, and Bilbo’s eyes widened at the expansive dark stripe across his throat. He glanced to the other dwarves, but all were focused on their injured friend, and weren’t forthcoming about details.

Bifur and Oin got Bofur’s jacket and shirts open. Bilbo winced and covered his mouth at the revealed vast bruise covering his upper torso. He wasn’t the only one with a reaction.

Bifur settled on his knees and lifted Bofur’s head to rest on his thighs. Oin’s practiced fingers felt Bofur’s torso, and Bilbo’s breath caught in his throat at the low unconscious whine from the injured dwarf. If the skin looked that bad, what kind of damage had been done inside?

“Don’t keep us in the dark, Oin,” Thorin prompted, failing to keep the anxiety from his voice.

“Definitely bruised ribcage. Two ribs broken, near the center of his chest.” Oin looked up to Bifur. “Was he coughing?”

Bifur nodded and turned his head to show the healer the side of his neck.

Oin thought for a moment. “That amount of blood isn’t too bad, though I can’t be certain until he wakes and coughs again. Though with all the physical strain and activity after he received these injuries…”

Bilbo turned away from his unconscious friend and looked up to Gandalf, asking with his eyes for him to do something. Gandalf sadly shook his head. His magic couldn’t be used for something like this.

“He won’t die, will he?” Bilbo asked, turning his head back to Bofur.

“Not if I can help it, lad.”

“You can, right?”

“Yes. Now, Bifur, sit him up… there just like that.” Oin took Bofur’s scarf and began binding the injured dwarf’s chest, covering the marred flesh.

“He can be moved?” Thorin asked. “We cannot stay up here for long.”

“There isn’t much more damage we could do to him by moving him that hasn’t already been done.”

“I’ll carry him,” Dori volunteered.

“There are some caves at the bottom of the Carrock that we can rest in,” Gandalf said.

“Rest and sleep will do us all some good,” Balin agreed.

Oin finished wrapping Bofur’s chest and stripped the jacket off. Bilbo watched, his fingers restless and fidgeting, as Bifur, Gloin, and Dwalin carefully lifted the unconscious Bofur onto Dori’s back and used the jacket to tie him securely. Bilbo glanced back at the hand on his shoulder to see Ori bite his lip before giving him a reassuring half-smile. Bilbo could see he did it as much for himself as for Bilbo.

Another unconscious whine from Bofur brought Bilbo’s attention back to him. Tey had tied his hands together around Dori’s chest, and the strong dwarf hoked his elbows under Bofur’s knees. Bifur gently turned his cousin’s face to Dori’s neck and soothingly stroked the braid at the back of Bofur’s head. Bombur patted his brother’s arm and said something that Bilbo couldn’t hear.

Bilbo wished someone would tell him what had happened, but he wasn’t going to specifically ask until they were all safe and down from the Carrock. He let out a sigh, and as Dori passed him on the way to the carved stairs on the side of the stone, he brushed his fingers along Bofur’s upper arm. He whispered to himself, “You better heal.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bifur's translated Khuzdul is italicized in the section of Bofur's point-of-view.

The first thing Bofur was aware of was the agony in his chest. He whimpered and turned his head. Then came the hushed Khuzdul in his cousin’s voice, above him. It took a moment for other sounds to register.

“… think he’s waking?” asked Bilbo’s voice.

“I need him to eventually… ask him what he’s feeling,” replied Oin.

“Least he didn’t wake on the way down,” Bombur said.

Bofur’s wakening body forced a deep breath, and his eyes opened wide from the pain. He let out a long cry and his arms moved unconsciously to cover his vulnerable ribs. It suddenly hurt to simply breathe, and he began panicking.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his vision swimming with black spots. Two pairs of hands gently held him down, and he turned his cheek into the clothing and muscle under his head. Through the haze in his head, he heard many cries of his name and the sound of hurrying feet.

“Don’t crowd around!” Oin sternly commanded. “If we need help I’ll call for you. Now, Bombur and Bilbo, please take his arms and hold them to his sides.”

In his panicked state, Bofur tried to kick out, which only resulted in more pain in his torso. His shin connected with something, but without any real force.

“Bombur, come hold his legs. Bifur, get that hand.”

The thighs beneath Bofur’s head shifted as Bifur reached over to take his now-free hand. The string of soothing words in Khuzdul did not pause for a second. “ _Be still, Bofur. Calm, nothing will harm you_ …”

“Bofur, please, we’re trying to help…” Bilbo pleaded.

Help? How could they do anything to help against the fire in his chest that rose with every intake of air?

“You need to calm, lad. It’ll be easier to breathe,” came the even voice of Oin.

“…hurts…” Bofur managed to rasp out.

“Which is why you need to calm.”

“ _You’re safe… be still_ …”

The four voices and the hands holding his own gradually calmed Bofur until he was lying as still as he could and breathing shallowly.

“There you go,” Oin said with a small smile. It faded as he watched the rise and fall of Bofur’s chest. He and Bombur gingerly opened the injured dwarf’s jacket and shirts, and unwound the scarf from around his torso.

“So that’s where that went,” Bofur said, wincing when he breathed too deep. He couldn’t help the cheeky grin when Bifur shushed him.

Oin watched Bofur breathe for a short moment before asking, “Did you breathe like this the entire way here?”

“Like what? This is the… only way to breathe without hurting.”

Oin sighed. “Too shallow. You must breathe normally, or you will get an infection.”

Bofur let out an involuntary whine, to which Bifur lightly squeezed his hand. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally, his hand tightening on Bilbo’s and Bifur’s with every intake of air.

Oin called Dori over and quietly talked to him. Bofur didn’t listen. He nearly jumped at the feel of a wet cloth laid on his forehead. He opened his eyes long enough to see that Bombur had done it, and relaxed back against his cousin.

“Can you do anything about his neck?” Bilbo asked.

“It is bruised, Master Baggins. Nothing more. It will heal on its own.”

“Does it hurt?” Bilbo’s question was now addressed to Bofur.

Bofur gave a smile that he hoped was reassuring. He sighed when Bifur told him to be honest. “My chest hurts more.”

“The fact that he can still speak is a good sign for both injuries,” Oin replied.

Bofur unconsciously started breathing shallowly again, and whimpered when the healer told him to breathe correctly again. A few minutes and a short coughing fit later, he was gently maneuvered into a sitting position so he could drink some tea and broth. He nearly gagged on the unexpected bitter taste of the tea.

“Drink it all,” Oin said. “It’s for the pain.”

“The best kind of medicine, aye.” Bofur joked, “Though I’d rather have an ale.” He got a little chuckle from Bilbo, which warmed him. “Bilbo, you don’t need to sit with me. Go… get some rest yourself.”

“You certain?”

Bombur replied, “We’ve got him. Go on.”

Bofur nodded, though he stared at his hand for a few seconds after the hobbit let go and walked away. He then kept his gaze on Bilbo, who had gone to sit with Gandalf, for a couple moments. Then Bombur cleared his throat and tapped the bowl of broth in Bofur’s hands.

Soon after Bofur had finished the small meal, his eyes felt heavy and the lids drooped. The pain-relieving part of the medicine hadn’t kicked in yet, but it seemed to be putting him to sleep. It would achieve the same effect. He scooted forward enough to resume his former position of lying back into his cousin’s lap. Finally, a proper rest since before the stone giants, as safe in this cave as they could be.

 

 

Bilbo kept glancing over to Bofur as he ate some fruit that Ori gave him. He knew he didn’t need to worry, with the injured dwarf’s cousin, brother, and the company healer looking after him, but he couldn’t help it.

“He’s in the best hands we have available,” Gandalf comforted.

“I know, but…” Bilbo lowered his voice. “Surely Azog is still hunting us. What if there’s another fight with him and his orcs? Maybe they’ll sense that he’s hurt and will target him, and… Sorry, sorry.”

Gandalf put his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and pulled him in. “Bofur will be taken care of. And we should all take this opportunity to rest. I expect Thorin will have us moving after we’ve all had proper rest.”

Bilbo glanced around at the dwarves, most now dozing off and sleeping around the fire as Balin kept watch at the cave entrance. He rubbed the back of his neck and leaned against the wizard. Bilbo didn’t fall asleep, but he did manage to close his eyes and relax his body, almost enfolded in the grey robes around him.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour later when a rough shake to his shoulder startled Bilbo. His hand went to the sword on his hip and he nearly drew it out of its sheath, but stopped when he noticed everyone else was still asleep or resting, except the dwarf who had shaken him.

“Bifur? What is it?” Bilbo nearly yelped as Bifur grabbed his arm and pulled him up, talking lowly. He glanced to Gandalf for help in understanding.

“He wants you to watch over Bofur for a little while,” Gandalf translated.

Bilbo rubbed a hand over his eyes and nodded. “Right, alright.” Though he was at a loss as to why Bifur had chosen him. The dwarf wasn’t exactly gentle as he pulled Bilbo after him, but Bilbo didn’t protest, not wanting to wake the others. He could tell that something urgent was on Bifur’s mind, as well.

Bifur gestured for Bilbo to sit by Bofur, and the hobbit obeyed. He glanced over to Bombur snoring on the other side of the injured dwarf, and wondered why Bifur hadn’t woken him for this task. Bilbo’s attention went back to Bifur at the sound of metal scraping against stone. Bifur picked up a sword he had taken from in the goblin tunnels, having lost his boar spear.

“Where are you going?” Bilbo whispered. He didn’t understand the growled answer, but there was a hard look in the dwarf’s eyes as he left. Nori was on watch at the cave mouth now, and he simply nodded at Bifur. Bilbo sighed as he wrapped his arms around his body and settled against the boulder. He looked over at Bofur, who was laying on his back, with Bifur’s jacket folded under his head as a pillow, and Bombur’s cloak draped over his body. His shirts had been left partially open, and Oin had left his chest unbound, the scarf now loosely folded nearby.

Bilbo frowned at the visible bruises, bites, and scratch marks, grimacing at one bite deeper than the rest near his neck. But, apart from the largely-spread contusion peeking from under the shirts, the dark thick bruise across his throat was the worst. “Oh, Bofur…” Bilbo breathed. “I’m sorry I got myself lost and couldn’t rescue you before… all this happened.”

Bilbo glanced over to the cave mouth, it couldn’t be any later than late-afternoon. He stretched his arms over his head, then lied on his side on the soft ground with his head propped up on his hand. He watched the even rise and fall of Bofur’s chest, his worry rising every time it slightly hitched.

Bilbo reached out to feel Bofur’s forehead with the back of his fingers to check if he had a fever. “That’s a relief,” he whispered at finding no unusual warmth. Despite his own tiredness, which was encouraged by the snores of the sleeping dwarves around him, he managed to stay awake. He hoped Bifur wouldn’t be gone for too much longer, because he really did need to sleep before they started moving again.

A cough from Bofur startled Bilbo into full alert, and it was quickly followed by a few more, quiet enough to not wake Bombur. He quickly sat up and took Bofur’s hand. The injured dwarf unconsciously tried to turn on his side at a second coughing fit.

“No, no, don’t do that,” Bilbo whispered, lifting Bofur’s head into his lap and gently laying his free hand on the dwarf’s shoulder to hold him down. A low moan passed through Bofur’s lips, and Bilbo felt an answering pressure from the hand he was holding.

“Bif… Bifur?” The question was barely more than a whimper.

“Not quite. Is that a disappointment?”

Bofur opened his eyes and blinked a few times to focus. “Ah… you’re not Bifur… but you’ll do.” He tried to be lighthearted, but the roughness of his voice negated some of it.

Bilbo half-smiled as his friend’s eyes focused on his face and cleared. “Nice to see you, too.” He took a breath and said, “Bifur… he told me to watch you for a while. He took a sword and left some time ago.”

Bofur’s expression saddened as he nodded. “I… I thought he might.”

“What do you mean? Nori didn’t even question him when he went out. Whatever he went out for, it seemed urgent.”

“He needs to… vent. I’m kind of surprised he held it in this long, been calm enough this long.”

“Over what happened to you?”

Bofur nodded grimly. “He, and the others, were… allowed to watch.”

“Oh,” Bilbo breathed.

“I wish they hadn’t been, but… well, can’t change that now.” Bofur put on a strained smile. “Enough about me. Where did you go off to? I noticed you were missing when I was… Where’d you go?”

Bilbo gently squeezed Bofur’s hand and was quiet for a moment. The he noticed the dwarf’s breathing pattern. “You’re not supposed to breathe shallowly like that.”

Bofur forced himself to breathe normally a few times before asking, “Better?”

“Do you feel any better? Does it still hurt to breathe as much as before?”

“Whatever Oin gave me seems to be helping. I hope he doesn’t run out.” Bofur’s hand tightened around the hobbit’s briefly as he breathed too deeply for comfort. “You’re changing the topic,” he pointed out.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to.”

“Nori said he saw you slip away soon after they got us.”

Bilbo nodded and told Bofur what had happened to him, leaving out finding the ring in that creature’s cave.

Bofur was quiet, letting Bilbo finish without interrupting. “You took a tumble off one of those bridges and came out no worse for the wear? Aye, the resilience of hobbits, indeed.”

“I’m sure it was more luck than anything.”

“If you won’t give yourself credit, then I will.”

Bilbo chuckled softly. “Fair enough.”

They were quiet for a few minutes before Bofur said, “When you joined us, I missed out on you saying why you came back. I’m curious.”

“Oh, well…” Bilbo repeated his answer to Thorin, then paused and sighed, “…and…”

“And? You gave a good reason. And what?”

Bilbo stared down at his hand, his fingers interwoven with Bofur’s. It was nothing more than an offer of comfort to an injured friend, or so it probably seemed to Bofur. He looked back to the dwarf, his nose twitching.

Bofur slightly smiled, recognizing that movement. “Something you didn’t tell the others?”

Bilbo had said too much to end the conversation now. His gaze went back to their hands. “Well, no, I couldn’t. You see, I… I came back for those reasons, and… one more… um…”

“You don’t have to tell me, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Bilbo closed his eyes for a second. “No, I should, I really should. I came back because…” His resolve faltered again. After all, how does one tell the person of the company who had, barring making him faint in his dining room, looked after him, protected him and treated him with more kindness than he had expected… that seeing Bofur collapse on the Carrock, seeing the injuries he had sustained, seeing him now with a strained smile to try to assure Bilbo… how could he tell that person that his feelings went further than friendship?

“Bilbo?” Bofur prompted. “You really don’t-“

The hobbit and the dwarf looked up at the sound of footsteps from the mouth of the cave. Nori hadn’t moved from his seat on a rock, but now Bifur stood silhouetted against the light of the late-afternoon sun. He as breathing heavily, and twigs and leave were tangled in his black hair. The older dwarf stood still for a few seconds as he looked at them. Then he hurried to them.

Bilbo couldn’t really move without hurting Bofur, but Bifur didn’t seem to mind his closeness. Bifur dropped to his knees at Bofur’s side and snaked one hand up the back of Bofur’s head under the hat, then bent over and pressed his forehead to the younger dwarf’s, turning his head enough to account for the axe.

Bilbo swallowed and glanced around the cave, feeling awkward with the intimate family moment happening practically in his lap. Whispers came from the cousins, Bifur’s low Khuzdul, and Bofur’s lilting rough voice consoling, “I’m here… they can’t hurt me anymore… I’ll heal…”

Bilbo noticed the unusually tender way Bifur’s fingers ghosted down Bofur’s cheek and across his bruised throat. He couldn’t help the small smile and the soft sigh as he looked away again.

After a moment of quiet, Bofur’s tone turned teasing when he asked, “So, how many trees did you terrorize?” Bifur chuckled and withdrew, then turned his attention to Bilbo.

Bilbo cleared his throat and moved backwards slowly enough for Bifur to take Bofur into his lap. “Right, I’ll just…” He stood and started to head over to Gandalf. He barely stopped the squeak as a strong hand grabbed the bottom of his jacket and jerked him back. He turned at the growled Khuzdul.

“He wants you to stay,” Bofur said.

“He… he does? I wouldn’t be intruding or anything?”

Bifur yanked on the hobbit’s jacket again, this time pulling him down to sit between Bofur and Bombur.

“Best do as he says,” Bofur said after he coughed a few times. “I wouldn’t mind, either.”

“Alright, then,” Bilbo replied, drawing his jacket around himself and laying down on his back. He let out a yawn and closed his eyes. He nearly flinched at the feel of fingers lying on his hand. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know whose they were, and a smile tugged on the edges of his mouth. It didn’t take long for him to finally fall asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bifur's translated Khuzdul is italicized in the section of Bofur's point-of-view.

Thorin had the company awake and ready to leave by sunset. Bofur protested at Oin’s instruction that he was to be carried on Dwalin’s back. Unfortunately, the healer had already given him that pain medication, so his argument that he could walk on his own was undermined. Still, he grumbled as he wrapped his arms around Dwalin’s neck and was tied against the warrior with his jacket. At Bifur’s light pat to his shoulder he sighed. They did need to move relatively quickly, and he would slow them down if he walked on his own.

“Hope I’m not too much of a burden for you,” Bofur quietly said to Dwalin when they started moving.

“Why would I think that?” Dwalin slightly adjusted his arms under Bofur’s knees for a more stable hold. “You think any of us would treat you as a burden after what you stood up to? What more you would’ve stood up to if Gandalf hadn’t arrived?”

“No, I… I suppose not.” Bofur winced as he coughed. “Thanks.”

The medicine didn’t put Bofur to sleep this time, because he wasn’t able to relax enough to let it. At least it did help with the pain, which made it easier to breathe normally. He still had to focus on resisting the urge to breathe shallowly, and Oin’s watchful eye was good incentive.

They walked through the night, and finally stopped in a small clearing of boulders at the sight of the sun beginning to rise through the trees. Bofur was helped down from Dwalin’s back and he leaned back against a boulder. Bombur handed him the tall axe for extra support.

Bofur closed his eyes as Oin checked him over. When the healer was finished, he opened them to find the hobbit missing. “Where’s Bilbo?”

“He went to see how far behind the Azog is,” Ori answered, moving to stand beside the injured dwarf.

“Don’t fret, Bofur,” Gandalf said. “He won’t be seen.”

Bofur nearly asked how the wizard could be so certain, but Bifur’s hand on his arm stopped him. His cousin told him to rest, because they would probably be moving again once Bilbo returned.

“Bifur-“ Bofur started as the older dwarf lightly spread a hand across his scarf-wrapped chest.

“ _Hush and breathe_.”

“Oin already-“

“ _Hush. Breathe_.”

Bofur rolled his eyes and obliged. He glanced to Ori, who had an expression of complete understanding at being unnecessarily fussed over. In fact, he had a slight cheeky smile as though he were enjoying Bofur’s situation.

“No one here is going to defend my dignity?” Bofur said to the young dwarf.

“I’d rather not defend it against Bifur,” Ori responded.

“Fair enough.” Bofur groaned as Bifur took his chin and turned his head to examine his face better. “I’ll tell Oin you don’t trust his healing skills if you don’t stop it.”

“ _I’m making certain he didn’t miss anything_.”

“I’m sure he knows what he’s doing. Besides, I haven’t even done any walking yet. I’m more concerned about Bilbo.”

“ _Oin looked him over. He’s fine_.”

Bofur huffed as his cousin took off his hat and felt his hair. “Come on, I didn’t even take any knock to the head!”

Bifur warmly smiled and put the hat back on the younger dwarf’s head, then kissed his forehead. He went off to talk with someone else.

Bofur looked over to Ori. “He’s getting as bad as Dori.”

Ori chuckled and shook his head. “He’s got a ways to go before I’d say that. And he does have good reason to fuss over you.”

Bofur’s expression turned solemn as he remembered the mantra that had gotten him through some of the goblin king’s torture. “Better me than Ori…” he breathed.

“Hm?”

“Better me than you,” Bofur said after a moment. He light-heartedly added, “I’d hate to see how Dori would be if this had happened to you.”

“It wouldn’t just be Dori.” Ori adjusted his bag that carried his journal and writing supplies. “So, what’s going on with you and Bilbo?”

“What’s going on? Do you know something I don’t? Who’s been telling tales?”

“Oh…” Ori suddenly turned shy. “No one. I just thought… never mind.”

Bofur’s eyebrows raised for a second as Ori left his side to join Fili. The young dwarf did bring up a good question. Maybe it was the pain from his injuries affecting his judgment, but was there something going on with him and Bilbo? He had been the first to warm up to the hobbit from the start, especially after Gandalf had told them that Bilbo had more to him than first impressions might imply. He had hoped Bilbo would join them, and had been one of the few to win that particular bet. After that, he was never far from the hobbit, and he had a strange sense of pride at knowing Bilbo would go to him when he was afraid, would grab his arm and look to him for protection instead of someone obviously strong like Dwalin.

Bofur tensed at a deep breath and shook his head in an attempt to push down the pain creeping back in his chest. Now that he did think about it, his feelings for Bilbo had been growing. He would find his friendly touches to Bilbo lingering a few seconds longer than needed, would find himself looking at him for no reason, would…

Bofur’s head snapped up at the sound of hurrying footsteps, and he pushed himself up to walk over to Bilbo as he arrived, leaning on the axe for support. The hobbit gravitated to him and glanced at him in concern before giving his report.

Bofur’s grip on the axe tightened at the news of another threat in the forest nearby. “You knew about this beast?” he asked Gandalf. “I say we double back.”

The argument over what to do was short, and Bofur steeled himself for running. He had done it before, directly after having his ribs broken, he could do it again. He wouldn’t let Dwalin or Dori carry him, not wanting to slow them down. Besides, he’s had enough rest while being carried the entire night, and his survival would depend on it.

Any concern for the pain running would cause fled his mind at the roar coming from the distance. Adrenaline flooded into him, and he knew he would be able to make it to the house Gandalf was leading them to.

Fear drove them all forward, as the sun rose in the sky. They finally got out of the trees, and at the sight of an open gate surrounded by a hedge, Bofur pushed himself harder.

Once they opened the door to the house and they burst inside, the giant bear on their heels, Bofur nearly protested as Bombur pushed him farther from the door than the others, who were trying to close the door against the bear. They somehow managed, and Gandalf told them they would be safe for the night.

Bofur went to the huge door once it was determined the beast had gone. Bombur followed, and Bofur turned to pat his brother’s shoulder and reassure him that he was alright. Once Bombur turned away and the others wandered from the door to look around the house, Bofur closed his eyes and rested his forearm on a high wooden railing, placing his forehead against it and letting out a heavy shuddered breath. Now that the chase was over and they were safe, the adrenaline gave way to clear sharp pain.

Bofur flinched at the hand that laid on his still gripping the axe. He forced a smile and slightly raised his head.

“Why did you lie to him?” Bilbo quietly inquired. “You’re not alright.”

Bofur sighed and lowered his head again. “I’m as alright as can be expected. Don’t worry about me.”

Bilbo gently unfurled Bofur’s fingers from the axe and placed the weapon against the rail. Bofur’s hand immediately clamped painfully around the hobbit’s. Bilbo winced, but didn’t try to pull away. “You’re not alright.” He glanced around, caught Fili’s eye, and gestured with his head for him to come over. “You need to get off your feet.”

Fili approached Bofur’s other side and said, “We’ve found some good spots for sleeping. Come on.” He took the injured dwarf’s upper arm and coaxed him to lift his head.

Bofur sucked in a short breath through clenched teeth at the first step towards a thick support beam in the middle of the house.

“Oin,” Fili called out. “Get your medicines prepared.”

Then everyone’s eyes were on the three of them. Bifur rushed forward to walk behind his cousin, ready to catch him if he fell.

Bofur practically collapsed down onto his knees when they reached the pile of hay. He wrenched his arms from Bilbo’s and Fili’s grips, barely catching himself as he fell forward in a coughing fit. His head hung low, and his hat fell off.

Bilbo and Bifur dropped to their knees at Bofur’s side, one hand each on the injured dwarf’s back. Bilbo shook his now aching hand that Bofur had held in a death grip. Ori hurried over with blankets and laid them out on the hay. Bilbo and Bifur gently rolled Bofur over onto his back on the blankets when the coughing stopped. Ori rolled up another blanket and placed it under Bofur’s head.

Bofur couldn’t stop himself from breathing shallowly through clenched teeth. He grasped at the blanket under him, and ended up with Bilbo’s hand. Bofur opened his eyes and turned his head to see the hobbit, who gave him a comforting small smile.

Bofur didn’t let go of Bilbo’s hand as Oin undid his shirts and unwrapped the scarf from his chest and checked him over. Dori brought over a large mug half-filled with medicinal tea. Bifur held it up to Bofur’s lips and helped him drink. He coughed up a bit of the bitter-tasting liquid, but managed to force down the rest. He got a drink of water after to wash that taste down. Oin reminded him to breathe properly again. Bofur’s eyelids fluttered closed as he forced himself to obey.

“You’ll be alright, lad. Just rest,” Oin said with a pat to Bofur’s leg.

“I doubt you’ll let me do anything else,” Bofur replied with a light grin.

The other members of the company let Bofur, Bilbo, and Bifur be and assigned themselves random tasks to make the place more secure and fit for them to rest in. It took a little while for the pain in Bofur’s chest to subside enough for him to think relatively clearly, though he did have to struggle against the drowsy effect of the medicine.

“Bifur, I-I’m alright now. You can go be with the others.”

“ _You need to be looked after. I’m not going anywhere_.”

Bofur sighed. “Bilbo can do that.” He couldn’t help a cheeky grin when he added, “You’re getting to be worse than Dori.”

Bifur narrowed his eyes, then snorted in protest before he got up to join someone else.

“Now…” Bofur turned to the hobbit at his side. He dropped the volume of his voice. “We had a conversation that he interrupted. Something about another reason why you came back?”

“Ah, yes. Um…” Bilbo’s nose twitched, as he got into a more comfortable position on his side with his head propped up on one hand, and he thought of how to continue. But his gaze went to the bruising of his friend’s chest and neck.

Bofur realized why Bilbo wasn’t talking now. He reached out and tilted Bilbo’s face up to his by the chin. “You’re making me feel self-conscious, something I usually don’t feel.”

Bilbo forced his eyes up from the injuries. “Sorry, I don’t mean to. I just…”

“Bilbo, I want you to remember something. This… it could’ve been worse.” Bofur couldn’t stop a shudder going down his spine at the possibilities that came to mind. “Aye, it could’ve been so much worse. But it isn’t. As it is, it’s only a couple broken bones and bruises. With enough rest, I’ll be right as rain. Now don’t you fret over it like this.”

“I’ll try.”

Bofur nodded. “Fair enough. You’ve managed to change the topic to my injuries again.” He teasingly smiled, “I must look quite a sight for this to keep happening. So, why else did you come back?”

“You’re not going to let me go anywhere until I’ve answered?”

“You’ve got me intrigued.”

Bilbo took a deep breath. “I came back because… because you asked me to stay.”

“Oh? Now I must know, what makes me so special that you would come back for little old me?”

There was no avoiding it now, Bilbo knew. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, and opened them to Bofur’s hazel ones filled with an encouraging expression. He scooted closer to talk quieter. “You… you’re dear to me. Very dear to me.”

Bofur felt over the blanket until he touched Bilbo’s hand. He gently squeezed it as he replied. “I could say the same about you. In fact, I will. You’re very dear to me.”

“Bofur…” Bilbo glanced down at their touching hands. “I don’t just mean as… I mean…” He sighed in frustration at not being able to say what he felt. How was it he could stand between Azog and a prone Thorin, but not do something so simple in comparison? On impulse, he leaned in and kissed the side of Bofur’s mouth. He quickly pulled back and stammered, “Probably shouldn’t have done that. I hope you’re not-“

Bofur released the hobbit’s hand to grab the front of his jacket and pull him in close. Close enough for the tips of their noses to touch. “Offended?” he finished. “Why would I be offended?” He watched as Bilbo’s expression changed from apprehension, to confusion, to surprise.

“You mean you...”

“Oh, aye.”

“Ah… that’s a relief.”

Bilbo seemed somewhat reluctant to kiss him again, probably due to not wanting to risk aggravating his injuries, so Bofur invited him in by sliding his nose past Bilbo’s to nudge his cheek. Bilbo took the hint, slightly tilting his head and closing the distance between their lips.

The hobbit’s lips were soft and pleasant, as at first they ghosted over Bofur’s before beginning a proper kiss. Bofur’s eyes fluttered closed, and his hand on Bilbo’s jacket lapel slid up, brushing the backs of his fingers across his collarbone and up the side of his neck.

Bofur broke the slow kiss. His ribs were slightly protesting at being turned a little on his side and craning his head up. He lay back on the blankets and hay completely, pulling Bilbo down after him.

Bilbo looked down at the dwarf, concern evident on his face. Bofur assured in a whisper, “Just a twinge.” Over the hobbit’s shoulder, he saw most of the members of the company staring at them, some open-mouthed, some grinning. He didn’t tell Bilbo they had an audience as he captured the hobbit’s lips with his.

The next time they parted for air, Bilbo pressed his forehead to Bofur’s and brought a hand up to trace the dwarf’s jawline. Bofur nuzzled his mouth against Bilbo’s cheek, and smiled at the slight giggle and tickled flinch at the mustache and goatee sweeping across his skin.

“Will have to get used to that,” Bilbo breathed before kissing Bofur again.

Bilbo’s head shot up, and Bofur flashed an amused smile, as Gloin spoke up, “I would tell you to find someplace private, but there isn’t any place for that.”

Bilbo froze as he blushed. “Um… yes, sorry about this. I’ll just…”

Bofur turned Bilbo’s face back to him. “You’ll just keep kissing me.” He didn’t give him a choice, pulling him in for a harder kiss than the ones before. By the time they broke apart again, most of the other dwarves had decided to stop staring and were talking amongst each other. Bombur grinned at them and went off to find the food stores. Ori gave a friendly wave before turning away to be with his brothers. Bifur kept an eye on them with a neutral expression.

Bofur cursed his broken ribs as they greatly restricted his movements, the desire to kiss the hobbit more passionately, to tightly hug him close and move his hands up and down his back and through the dark-blond hair driving him half-mad. Bofur took Bilbo’s face between his hands and traced the pointed ears with his fingers. He took a moment to simply look at Bilbo’s flushed and pleased face.

“By Mahal, you’re beautiful…” Bofur chuckled as that only made Bilbo duck his head in shyness.

“I think you are too. You’re handsome, I mean.”

“Is this what ‘very dear to me’ means to hobbits?”

“No, I… I think this is past that.” Bilbo swallowed and moved in to give himself a second to gather his confidence. “I love you,” he breathed into the dwarf’s ear.

“Love? Aye, this means that to me, too.” Bofur nuzzled his nose against Bilbo’s cheek. “I love you…” He closed his eyes and let out a content sigh. They settled to lay together with Bilbo curled up against Bofur’s side, with the dwarf’s arm around him. Bilbo’s other arm was draped across Bofur’s stomach, with Bofur’s hand resting on it. Bofur tilted his head down enough to place his nose in the hobbit’s hair, breathing in his scent.

“Could’ve been worse…” Bofur mumbled as he drifted into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bifur's translated Khuzdul is italicized in Bofur's point-of-view.

Bofur unconsciously curled his fingers tighter to grasp at the back of Bilbo’s jacket, and startled awake when they held only air. He glanced around in the darkness, making out the shapes of the sleeping company around him. It was now the middle of the night. Bofur had awakened earlier for a dinner of fruit and bread, and had been able to stay up enough to have conversations with some of the others. When they had settled in for a full night’s sleep, so had he and Bilbo, in the same position as they had been in earlier.

“Bilbo?” Bofur whispered at the smaller shape a few feet away and turned away from him. The hobbit was obviously awake and staring down at something. Bilbo flinched, then froze.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. You alright there?” Bofur apologized.

Bilbo made a movement to put something in his waistcoat pocket and turned over with a little smile. “Yes, perfectly fine. Just… thinking,” he said, scooting closer to snuggle at the dwarf’s side again.

“Thinking at this time of night? What about?”

“Oh... well, home. Don’t worry, I have no intention to try to leave you all again.”

“I wasn’t worried.” Bofur put his arm around Bilbo and closed his eyes. He didn’t fall into sleep immediately, and stiffened as his chest throbbed when he adjusted his body slightly. Bilbo felt it and tilted his head up to look at him, eyes shining with concern.

“It’s going to hurt, no need to fret over every ache it has,” Bofur reasoned. He blew out a long breath, letting the pain go through him and letting his body relax. “See? Already better.”

“I suppose we’ll see how honest you’re being come morning.” Bilbo draped his arm over Bofur’s stomach, and the dwarf’s hand once again laid on it. Bilbo remembered a concern he’d had earlier, and lifted his head to glance around, looking for one dwarf in particular.

“I don’t think that beast is going to bother us,” Bofur assured.

“It’s not that. It’s…” Bilbo located Bifur a few yards away, and laid back down. “It’s… is there anything I should worry about with Bifur?”

“You mean because of us being together?”

Bilbo huffed at himself. “I hope I’m not causing offense?”

“I wouldn’t worry about Bifur. He likes you. I know he can be intimidating, but he really does like you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have…” Bofur had to stifle a laugh of sudden understanding, both to not wake the others and to not jostle his injured body too much. “The sly badger…” he mused.

“What?”

Bofur looked down at Bilbo’s questioning face. “In the cave. He didn’t wake anyone to look after me when he went off, not even Bombur. But he decided on you.”

“I’m still puzzled about that.”

“I could say perhaps, like Ori, he saw something between us and wanted to push us together.”

“Wait, Ori saw this before we did?”

“Whatever reason he chose you, I think he was testing you.”

Bilbo narrowed his eyes. “Testing me.”

“Aye, testing you. Seeing if he could trust you to look after someone he loves. Of course he trusts Bombur with that, but he wouldn’t want to burden him if he doesn’t have to, since he’s the little brother.” Bofur half-smiled. “You’ll also notice he didn’t hover over me as much after we let our feelings known. He trusts you.”

“I suppose not. You won’t tell him I was concerned, right?”

“Of course not. It’ll be our little secret. In fact, I know he’ll be sure to protect you.”

“Like you have been?”

“Aye, like I have.” Bofur replied with a kiss to the top of the hobbit’s head.

********

After the anxious excitement of introducing themselves to Beorn and having breakfast, Gandalf, Thorin, and the skinchanger huddled together to make plans, leaving the rest of the company to talk amongst themselves.

Oin took the opportunity to check on Bofur’s condition. While the injured dwarf knew it was necessary, he was getting tired of it. “You better not give me enough medicine to knock me out.”

“As much as I would like to, it looks like we’ll be on the move again soon,” Oin responded. He pushed himself up to his feet. “I’ll be back with the tea.”

Bofur started buttoning his shirts up, glancing around at the others. “Bifur?” He asked when he realized his cousin wasn’t sitting nearby anymore, and he couldn’t see him anywhere else in the house. He hadn’t noticed him even getting up to leave. “Did you see where he went?” he asked Bilbo.

The hobbit shook his head. Bofur blew out a breath. Then he noticed that Beorn wasn’t anywhere to be seen either. That was probably a coincidence that both weren’t here at the same time. Bifur had probably gone off to be alone for a short time before they left, Beorn had probably… well he had no idea what the large and intimidating man would go off to do, but he didn’t have anything to worry about.

Bofur was about to wrap his scarf around his neck when his hands froze at the sound of urgent Khuzdul from the direction of the door. He winced as he turned too quickly to look in that direction. “What in Mahal’s name is he doing?” he muttered, alarmed at the sight of Bifur pulling Beorn after him by the bottom of his tunic. While it was obvious the skinchanger could easily put a stop to it, he obliged the dwarf, who hadn’t stopped trying to talk to him in Khuzdul. Then Bofur actually listened to what his cousin was saying. Bifur was talking about him. “Oh no… what are you doing…”

Bofur quickly wrapped his scarf around his neck before Bifur and Beorn stopped in front of him. Bifur pointed at him and let go of the man’s tunic, then stood off to the side.

Bofur glared at his cousin before staring up to Beorn. “I am sorry about him if he’s offended you in any way. When he gets an idea in his head, sometimes he really doesn’t know when to stop.”

“Why did none of you tell me you were injured?” Beorn asked, kneeling and leaning in close.

Bofur instinctively shrank back from the imposing skinchanger. Bilbo’s arm went around his shoulders for support. “I… I’m fine, really I am. You don’t need to bother yourself with me.”

“Stupid thing to refuse aid from an ally,” Beorn said, though there was no discernable malice in his voice.

“ _Show him_ ,” Bifur demanded.

“Bifur-“

“ _Let him see. He could help. Show him_.”

“I really don’t know how. It’s just a-“

“ _Now_.”

Bofur’s gaze snapped back to Beorn as the skinchanger chuckled, “Although I can’t understand him, your badger is quite persistent.”

“Aye, that he is…” Bofur sighed defeatedly. He sat up straighter and unwrapped the scarf, handing it to Bilbo. Beorn’s reaction to the thick bruise around his throat was a simple grunt of acknowledgment. The injured dwarf flicked a glare to his cousin before unbuttoning his shirts.

“Now that does look serious,” Beorn commented when Bofur held the shirts open to reveal the expanse of black and blue skin.

Oin came over from the kitchen area with a too-large cup of steaming liquid in his hands. He stood beside the skinchanger and said, “Two broken ribs. Not too much internal damage that I can tell, though it has been causing him trouble breathing.”

“ _If he’s having other troubles, he’d be too stubborn to show it_.” Bifur’s comment was aimed at his cousin.

“Oh, you’re one to talk about being stubborn,” Bofur shot back.

“Can you do anything to help him?” Bilbo asked.

“I am no healer, but I may have something. May I touch you?”

Bofur’s eyes flickered to the very large hands. He swallowed, and considered saying no. What if this man decided to take advantage and hurt him? On the other hand, Bifur apparently seemed to trust him well enough. And the others would jump to action if Beorn did hurt him…

“Can’t hurt, right?” Bofur relented, dropping his hands into his lap and trying to relax. Some of the other members of the company had gathered around to watch. He noticed Thorin take Dwalin aside, and Ori, sitting near the two and writing in his journal, pull a concerned face. Then Beorn lifted one hand, and Bofur closed his eyes to stop himself from flinching away.

The skinchanger’s hand was warm, and more gentle than Bofur thought possible, as it spread across the expanse of his chest. The fingers tenderly pressed, and pulled away when Bofur couldn’t hold in the low whine of pain when they found the broken part of his ribcage. Bilbo took his hand in comfort.

“Gandalf mentioned an encounter with goblins,” Beorn brought up. “This is from them?”

Bofur nodded. “I got the worst of their treatment. And really, considering what could’ve happened to me, I really don’t see what all this fuss over me is about.”

Beorn backed away and turned to Oin. “What do you need for him?”

Oin handed the cup to Bilbo. “Make sure he drinks it all,” he ordered before turning to Beorn and following him to another part of the house. “My medical supplies are low, so anything you have, really…”

“Are you alright?” Bombur inquired.

“I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me,” Bofur quickly went to rebuttoning his shirts. “As for you,” he addressed Bifur, “I’d rather not be shown off to everyone we meet until I heal. I know you mean well, but please?”

Bifur hovered over Bofur for a few seconds, then bent down to press their foreheads together. He whispered, “ _I take care of you, like you did for me_.” Bofur couldn’t stay annoyed at his cousin, and smiled at him when he pulled away. Bifur took the cup from Bilbo and put it in Bofur’s hands. “ _Now drink_.”

Bofur took a sip of the bitter tea, and told everyone to stop crowding around him. “I’m fine, you can all go now.” He looked over to the corner where Balin had now joined in whatever discussion Thorin and Dwalin were having. It looked like it had slightly escalated, with the heated way Thorin was gesturing. Ori was still eavesdropping, and he had stopped writing completely. A minute later, the three arguing apparently came to an agreement and dispersed. Ori let out a long breath and got up.

“What was that all about?” Bofur asked when Ori came over to them.

Ori put his journal and pen away in his bag. “Well… it was about…”

“It was about me, wasn’t it,” Bofur concluded. Bilbo glanced at him in concern, then looked back to the young dwarf.

Ori sat on the floor as close to them as he could and lowered his voice. “Thorin was considering leaving you behind, and-“

Bifur shot up to his feet, a hard look in his eyes. “ _That unfaithful_ -“

Bombur grabbed Bifur from behind in a hug before the older dwarf could make headway for Thorin. “Settle. We haven’t heard everything Ori has to say.”

Bifur turned back to them, but didn’t sit down again.

Ori quietly continued. “Dwalin listened for a bit, then Balin joined in. Balin argued that if we left you behind, we wouldn’t just lose you. We’d lose Bifur, Bombur, and maybe Bilbo.”

“ _Damn right you’d lose me_ ,” Bifur growled. “ _How dare he suggest such a thing_.”

“Dwalin pointed out that you haven’t been a real burden so far. It took some convincing, but Thorin agreed to keep you along,” Ori finished.

Bofur was quiet for a moment. “I suppose I can’t blame Thorin for thinking that way.” He stared into the cup, then forced himself to quickly drink the rest of the tea. He shuddered as he wallowed and handed the cup to Bombur. “What I wouldn’t give for a good ale right now.”

“Something tells me we’ve got ways to go before we find that,” Bombur said with a smile.

Oin returned with Beorn, closing his medical bag and unravelling a roll of proper bandages. “These should be better for wrapping your chest than your scarf,” he remarked before kneeling down in front of the injured dwarf to work. “Good, you’ve drank all the tea…”

********

Bofur eyed the pony with some trepidation. This wasn’t going to be a stroll through the wilderland to Mirkwood Forest. The pony would probably be galloping at full speed most of the way, and he didn’t like the thought of him being on it and having his injuries jostled.

Gloin placed a firm hand on his shoulder as he approached from behind. “You alright?”

“Yes, yes.” Bofur glanced around the forest where Beorn had brought them to the ponies. “The sooner we get going, right?”

Gloin nodded. “That’s the spirit.” He climbed up onto the pony first, and reached out to help Bofur up. Bifur gave Bofur a leg up as well.

Bofur grimaced as he swung his leg over the animal’s back and settled behind Gloin. He nodded to Bifur, who went to get on his own mount. He looked over to Bilbo, who was paired with Nori on a pony. Too bad they couldn’t ride with each other, but they both needed to be with someone more experienced for this sort of ride.

“Let me know if you start hurting,” Gloin said quietly as they got underway.

Bofur grunted an affirmative answer, but was determined not to be a burden on anyone. Besides, the medicine would keep the worst of the pain at bay. He tightened his arms around Gloin’s middle as the company picked up the pace.

********

Other than stopping at midday to feed the ponies and have a quick meal, the pace was consistent until they stopped at the edge of Mirkwood, in front of an antlered display gate, where the elven path lay beyond.

After Bilbo kissed Bofur once he got down with help from Gloin, the hobbit went to the gate, where Gandalf had already entered.

As Bofur looked up at the trees, he got an uneasy feeling about this place. But going through it was the only way to get to Erebor by Durin’s Day. Still, the words from that other wizard of dark magic and creatures added to his apprehension. Hopefully Gandalf was right, and they wouldn’t encounter any of that on the elven path. Bofur unconsciously brought his hand up to his chest. If they did run across trouble…

“Can you handle taking these?” Bombur asked, approaching with a small pack of supplies and a bag of carrots.

Bofur nodded, appreciating that he wasn’t going to be left out in pulling his weight with supplies. Bombur helped him put them on, and Bofur nodded that he would be fine with them.

“Not my horse, I need it!” Gandalf shouted, coming from the forest entrance.

The news of Gandalf leaving them only increased Bofur’s anxiety. Not that he doubted the strength of his fellow dwarves, but having a wizard around if they ran into whatever dark magic or creatures was handy.

Gandalf warned them about some potential dangers, and left no room for argument when he insisted they stay on the path. Then he mounted his horse and galloped away.

Everyone turned to the entrance to the elven road. Bofur glanced down as Bilbo took his hand. The hobbit quietly asked, “You think we’ll be alright in there?”

Bofur appreciated that the question hadn’t been about him specifically. “Aye,” he put on a smile. “And if we run across anything nasty… we’ll still be alright.”

Thorin led the way into the forest, and the others fell in line. Bofur glanced behind before they rounded a bend, for some reason, needing to see the light that was behind them again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bifur's translated Khuzdul is italicized in Bofur's point-of-view.

The path through Mirkwood Forest was easy enough to follow, and for the most part they were all able to keep their wits about them. Bofur kept to his more optimistic nature and hoped they wouldn’t encounter any obstacles on their way.

Then they found the collapsed bridge, and the only way over the apparently dangerous water of the stream was by maneuvering across hanging vines. Bofur’s body protested at the way he had to twist around, reach out, and jump, though it was a pain he could grit his teeth through, as long as he wouldn’t have to do anything taxing once he reached the safety of the opposite bank.

Bofur found a stable spot to rest for a short moment. He glanced up at a large splash a few seconds later. “Bombur!” he cried at the sight of his brother flat on his back in the water, unconscious.

While most the others worked on fishing Bombur out with ropes and vines, Bofur helped Bilbo, Balin, and Oin with making a stretcher for the unconscious dwarf. This knocked a dent in Bofur’s optimism. Bifur was trembling in his efforts to restrain himself from going off taking out his frustrations on the trees. Bofur consoled for both his sake and his cousin’s, “He’ll wake soon. He’s just asleep.”

Things took a turn for the worse after the stream, though not in any spectacular way. Bofur simply felt as though he were thinking through a muddy haze, not to mention the physical tiredness and strange disconnection between both. Then they somehow ended up off the path. They did have one good sign, when Bombur finally awakened.

“Look,” Dori said, picking up an object from the ground. “A tobacco pouch. There’re dwarves in these woods.”

Bofur stepped forward, taking it from him. “Dwarves from the Blue Mountains, no less. This looks exactly like mine…” Bilbo suddenly appeared in front of him, face fixed in a harder expression than Bofur had seen it before.

“That’s because it is yours, you understand?” the hobbit stated. “We’re going around in circles, we’re lost.”

Bofur clutched the tobacco pouch close to his chest. It took his foggy brain a moment to register what Bilbo had said. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “It is mine. How long ago did I drop it?” He nearly let it go as Bilbo’s hands urgently took his as he closed the distance between them.

“Bofur, this forest… it’s doing something to us, affecting our minds somehow. We can’t let that happen. We need to fight it.” Bilbo shuddered as he suddenly glanced all around, above them.

“Bilbo?” Bofur asked.

“You don’t hear that? It comes and goes… like voices… branches moving…”

Bofur strained to hear whatever Bilbo was, but all he could make out past the movements of the company was nothing, as he had the entire time. “Maybe this place is messing with your head differently than me,” he suggested.

Bilbo turned back to him. “Maybe.”

“Come on, we must keep moving!” commanded Thorin.

“Stay close to me?” Bofur asked the hobbit, bumping his forehead to the other’s for a brief moment.

“Of course I will.”

They eventually stopped to rest, and the company wasn’t shy about letting their grievances out. “We’re lost…” “We’re not lost, we just have to go east!” “Which way is east? We’ve lost the sun…” Bofur stepped back from the shoving that broke out among the group, shaking his head to clear it of that haze.

“Quiet!” Thorin shouted. “We’re being watched.”

Bofur glanced around, and opened his mouth to ask where Bilbo had gone. That question died in his throat, but he couldn’t cry out as something abruptly yanked him up. He couldn’t move as whatever it was turned him over and over. The last thing he was aware of was white filling his vision.

********

The first thing Bofur was aware of was the heaviness in his head. He lightly swung side-to-side, upside-down. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t see anything past the white, and the fear that filled him at that realization added to the rising panic.

He heard someone behind him start to yelp. It sounded like Bombur, but there was nothing he could do to help his brother. Sounds like high-pitched hissed voices and creaking branches came to his attention. Then a voice that was familiar and very welcome. He wanted to cry out to his hobbit, but the paralysis still had a hold on him.

Then Bofur was falling slowly, and all he could do for a moment once he hit the ground was blink and breathe. He heard the others joining him.

The paralysis swiftly faded, and the company shot up to their feet, ripping away the webbing encasing them. Bofur reached for the axe strapped to his back, grimacing at the pain in his chest as he did so. “Where’s Bilbo?” he asked, looking around at the group.

“Here! I’m up here!” came the answer, which quickly turned into a yelp.

But there was no time for Bofur to figure out where Bilbo had cried out from, because huge spiders began dropping from the trees, hissing and spitting. He had a passing thought on how creatures that size could’ve possibly stealthily ambushed them, before he had to swing his axe as one came for him.

The adrenaline and survival instincts made the pain in Bofur’s chest fade away. He couldn’t even afford a second to think about his injuries.

Then a spider seized his leg from behind with its mandibles and started dragging him up a tree trunk. Bofur cried out, desperately trying to turn to strike it with his weapon. The spider suddenly screeched and flung Bofur sideways through the air. All the breath swiftly left his lungs, leaving none for even a squeak, as he collided into a thick trunk with his front. The axe flew from his hand at the impact. He dropped to the ground, the sharp stabbing agony causing him to nearly black out. Nausea rolled in his stomach as he lay there on his side, barely able to breathe through the pain. The sounds of the fight began to drain away from his awareness. The taste of blood made itself known in his mouth.

The crackling hiss of a spider rapidly approaching didn’t make Bofur’s body react to survive, but the touch of its leg as it turned him over onto his back did. It suddenly didn’t matter that breathing hurt, because he sucked in a deep breath through clenched teeth as he flung his arms out, hoping a hand would close around the handle of his axe.

Bofur didn’t find his axe, but his fingertips brushed against a thick branch. He kicked up at the spider to give himself another precious second to inch closer to the branch. He barely grabbed it and brought it up in time to block the fangs from piercing his face.

It was all Bofur could do to keep that mouth from getting any closer. He couldn’t even get enough air in his lungs to cry out for help.

Two swords suddenly appeared over Bofur, stabbing into the creatures face. Bifur and Dori slashed at it again, as someone grabbed the back of Bofur’s jacket and dragged him from under the spider.

“I’ve got you,” Ori said, taking the injured dwarf under the arms and pulling him up to his feet.

Bofur’s legs nearly gave out on him, and only Ori’s hold kept him upright. He spat out the blood that had gathered in his mouth.

“Come on!” Thorin called out to the company.

With Ori and Bifur supporting Bofur on either side, they hurried after their leader, hoping to find a way to escape the spiders. Bofur kept his hold on the branch, unable to find his axe.

It quickly became clear that they weren’t going to outrun the creatures, and they all ended up in a circle facing outward as the spiders surrounded them. Bofur bared his teeth, swinging at any spider that came close to him. The branch didn’t do much damage, but it kept them away long enough Bifur and Dori to strike with their swords.

Then there was the sound of a horn, and elves approached, coming from between trees and dropping down from them, taking out spiders as they went. The company tightened their circle when the elves turned their weapons on them.

Bofur swallowed and locked his knees to stop himself from collapsing. Now that the fight against the immediate threat of the spiders was done, the damage done to his injured chest gradually came back into his awareness.

A female elf brought Kili into the group, and the leader, a regal-looking blonde male, ordered the others to search the dwarves. Bofur didn’t put up any struggle, knowing there was no use, especially since the only weapon he had was the branch, which he dropped when one elf approached him.

Bofur stiffened, but tried to kept his hard expression as the elf roughly pushed open his jacket and felt at his clothes. He shook his head when Bifur started to move towards him to protest at the less-than-gentle handling. They couldn’t let the elves know he was injured, not with Beorn’s warning that these elves weren’t like the ones in Rivendell. Less wise and more dangerous, he had said. If these elves knew he was hurt, they might use that to their advantage, use him to get whatever they would what from his friends.

The elf inspecting him stepped back, satisfied at not finding anything. Bofur was relieved that the elf hadn’t pulled at his scarf to reveal the bruise still marring his neck. The leader ordered them tied in a line with rope. An elf shoved Bofur past Thorin, and he nearly fell. Balin caught him by the arm to steady him. He glanced around at the company, and realized they were one short. “Thorin, where’s Bilbo?” he whispered before he was pushed forward again.

Bofur looked around as his wrists were tied in front of him and a longer rope went around his waist, tying him to Kili. There was no sight of his hobbit, and Bofur tried to stay optimistic. Bilbo had proven that he could look after himself, but the idea of him in this forest alone with spiders and unfriendly elves…

Bofur barely held in a wince of pain as an elf pushed him again. He really hoped they wouldn’t continue being this forceful the entire way to their destination, because he wasn’t sure if he could keep the verbal cues of the pain from escaping if they were.

********

Thorin was untied from the rest of the company and led to the throneroom, while the rest were taken directly to the prison cells. The only thing on Bofur’s mind was the hope that he could finally sit and rest. He was barely managing to stay on his feet, the broken ribs causing stabbing pains with every step, and forcing himself to breathe normally to not arouse suspicion was taking energy and concentration.

Each of them was untied and pushed towards and into cells. Bofur turned to Bifur at the other’s shouts when he was pushed towards a cell by himself. Bifur tried to get past the elf guarding him to be with the injured dwarf, and the elf nearly picked him up to practically toss him into a cell with Bombur.

Bofur didn’t put up a fuss when his cell door was locked behind him. Instead, he gingerly pushed himself up onto the large bench with a thin blanket that served as a bed. He closed his eyes at the sounds of his friends trying to break their doors open and shouting at the departing elves.

“It’s no use,” Balin called out. “This is no orc dungeon. This is the realm of the woodland elves.” His words had the desired effect of convincing the other dwarves to stop trying to break out, though it didn’t stop any grumbles of frustration.

Bofur very slowly took off his jacket and folded it up between the back of his head and the wall to be more comfortable. He opened his eyes at the concerned call of his name from Ori, who was in the cell with Dori directly across the way from him. He flashed a half-smile to assure the young dwarf. “I-I’m alright. Just need… rest, is all.” He hoped no one would try to draw him into conversation. Those few words had hurt enough to say.

Despite his words, his body was reluctant to follow the suggestion to relax. He couldn’t get comfortable, and his hands fisted tightly in the fabric of his pants. Each breath brought a thrust of pain, and he soon went to breathing shallowly to give himself whatever respite he could. He barely noticed when Thorin was brought in and locked up.

Bofur suffered silently, unable to sleep or get any proper rest. Still, he was determined to ride this out, knowing that in the relative safety of his cell, no more damage could be done to him, and his body could work on healing.

Maybe Thorin was right to suggest leaving him behind at Beorn’s house. His body needed time to heal from what the goblins had done to him, and now the damage added by the spiders. Perhaps now, if Thorin and the elven king of this realm somehow reached an agreement and they were let go, he should stay here. But that would mean having to let the elves know he was injured, and what would they do with him? Even with a deal between Thorin and the king, if he stayed here alone, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t be hurt. Not that he would be here alone, since Bifur and Bombur would insist on staying with him, which would mean Thorin would be down three dwarves for the rest of the journey.

Bofur winced as his body forced a deep breath from him. No, he couldn’t stay here if they were released. He would have to keep going. As long as he was not a burden on the others, he would have to keep going. He had managed so far…

********

Bofur jerked out of the state of half-asleep rest he had settled into, from a particularly severe piercing pain as he breathed too deeply. He swallowed, and nearly gagged at the feeling and taste of blood in the back of his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to panic. If he just relaxed and breathed, he would be fine.

Two voices drifted into Bofur’s awareness. Kili, and what sounded like that elf woman who had helped capture them. He listened in, needing something to focus on, to help him not give into the fear from his body’s distress.

“… we were escorting some merchants in Ered Luin, and on the horizon appeared a huge firemoon…”

A smile flickered across Bofur’s face. At least one of them was taking the opportunity to make friends. He listened to their conversation about stars and firemoons, finding the sense of calm he needed.

Bofur suddenly coughed, wet and loud. His broken ribs moved with it, feeling as though they had become knives stabbing into him. He brought his bare hands up at a second cough, and blanched at the amount of blood now staining them. He opened his mouth to call out, but all he could manage was a low drawn-out whimper.

The third cough opened a floodgate, and he couldn’t stop. The stabbing sensation in his chest turned to fire, and it was all he could do to breathe in at all. Black spots swam and grew in his vision. He leaned over, stabilizing his elbows on his knees hanging over the edge of the bench. The convulsions sent him forward enough to fall to the floor. He curled in on himself, hacking and choking, blood sputtering and drooling past his lips.

“Bofur!”

The cries of his name from his friends were the last thing he heard as the dark and flaming agony overtook him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bifur's translated Khuzdul is italicized in Bofur's point-of-view.

Bilbo was still searching for where the dwarves had been taken within the woodland realm of the elves, when he froze at the sound of hurried footsteps coming from the walkway junction up ahead. He was in a corridor, and couldn’t see the person or reason for the rush.

An elf woman shot past the corridor opening and across Bilbo’s line of sight. She looked like the same one who Bilbo had seen talking to the king. But it wasn’t the recognition of her that made the hobbit’s eyes widen. The glimpse of a pair of legs draped over her arm as she carried the small person, a pair of boots that he recognized…

Bilbo had to clap his hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out Bofur’s name. He ran after the elf, keeping enough distance behind to not be heard.

The woman stopped when she reached another elf, one dressed like a guard. Bilbo didn’t pay attention to their short conversation, all his concern on Bofur, now that he could see the dwarf from a better angle.

Bofur was completely slack in the elf’s arms, missing his hat and jacket. Blood tinged his mustache and goatee crimson, and more trickled from his parted lips. Blood also stained the palms of his hands. But the worst part was his breathing. Every inhale was ragged and wet, every exhale a gurgle accompanied with more bright red blood.  

Bilbo resisted the urge to reach out and touch the person he loved. He stepped aside when the elf lightly jostled Bofur to reposition him to not allow his head to tip too far back. Bilbo grimaced at the whimper that passed through Bofur’s lips at the movement. The guard hurried away, and the woman went off in another direction.

Bilbo followed, hoping this elf woman’s intent was to help the injured dwarf, and not harm him further. “I’ll be with you, Bofur,” he whispered to himself.

 

_Clawed hands grabbing at him… holding him down on his back… his scarf tight around his throat… agony in his chest…_

Hands holding him down… unraveling his scarf, undoing his shirts and pushing them off over his arms… Why were they undressing him? What else were they going to do to him?

“No! Please!” Bofur cried, kicking out, not caring about the pain erupting in his torso from the movement. His eyes snapped open, but his vision was too blurred to make anything out in the orange-tinted lighting above and around him. He choked on blood rising in his throat, but did not stop struggling to get away from those hands, to get away from the torture.

Urgent-sounding words in a foreign tongue only made him panic more. Why weren’t the goblins speaking Common anymore? What were they saying that they didn’t want him to know? What horrors were they going to inflict on him now?

One hand went around the back of his head and lifted it. Bofur tried to bat it away, but his arm was firmly pushed back down. A cup filled his view and he turned his head and closed his mouth to stop it from touching his lips.

“Bofur, drink it,” came a bare-whisper near his ear in a voice he knew.

Bofur turned his head back to see if he was imagining Bilbo being at his side. The person holding his head up and the cup took advantage of his distraction and forced his lips open with the rim, pouring cool liquid past his teeth.

“It’s only water,” a feminine voice from above him, past where he could see, answered. “Don’t swallow.”

It did taste like water, at least from what he could tell as it mixed with the pooling blood in his mouth. His head was tilted forward, and he coughed up the now-diluted blood, most of it making it into the cup.

Bofur wasn’t choking on his own blood anymore, but breathing was agony. He still wasn’t able to gather his wits. The chattering and jeering of goblins began to fill his ears, and he started kicking out again. He was still in that cavern with those creatures, despite whatever calming voices, familiar and otherwise, he had to be hallucinating. He couldn’t see past the haze and black spots swimming in his vision.

“Bofur, please!” Bilbo’s voice at his ear again, barely audible. “You’re safe… Let them help…”

Bofur whipped his head around. Bilbo definitely couldn’t be here, he had fallen or somehow been left behind in that cage the goblins had cornered them in. He hadn’t been there when Bofur had nearly been hanged by his own scarf…

“Bilbo?” Bofur rasped through blood-stained teeth and lips. He was right, the hobbit wasn’t here, he couldn’t see him. Why was he hearing him? So much pain… it only made sense he would want to hear the voice of someone he loved… but then why wasn’t he hearing the voices of his brother and cousin? Why… they were here, they were watching, and by Mahal how he wished they weren’t.

_The heavy club came down on him… something in his chest moved with a sharp clarity._

Bofur screamed at the agony that exploded in his chest.

_But that pain was quickly drowned out by the club striking the same spot as before…_

He screamed again, louder this time, his entire body spasming with it.

_The third blow came down…_

Bofur held onto consciousness by this scream and the others echoing in his ears. He couldn’t stop himself from kicking out to get away, despite the fire in his chest.

“Be calm, Dwarf! Please!” The female voice again.

“Bofur, please, don’t slip into it.” Bilbo’s bare-whispered voice at his ear again. “They’re trying to help you. Please… You’re not there…”

But Bofur was there. Where else would he be? Orange-lit cave, hands, now frantic, holding down his arms and legs, the fear, the pain… Anything that didn’t fit couldn’t be real…

Bofir clenched his teeth and turned his head to the side when one hand touched his chin. He refused to make whatever they were going to do to him next easy for them. But he couldn’t stop the person from pressing into his cheeks to force his jaw open. Sour liquid poured into his mouth, and he managed to spit some of it back out before his jaw was held closed.

“Swallow. It will help,” came the command.

Bofur shook his head, writhing as he struggled to breathe through his nose, anything to avoid swallowing whatever foul poison they had given him. He quickly lost that fight, and swallowed, shuddering as it went down his throat. The hand released his jaw, and let him breathe. He didn’t get much air from his shallow and sobbing breaths, but it was enough.

He waited for the poison to start taking whatever malicious effect it would have on him, to burn him from the inside or other such things. But he felt nothing after another moment. No, not nothing… his full-body struggling was slowing and weakening. He could feel his awareness slipping away into darkness…

_“Perhaps I will continue this with the youngest after you’re spent,” the king goaded. “You’re so feisty, I can’t help but wonder how different he’ll be.”_

“No, no, no…” Bofur forced himself to fight the effects of the poison. “Don’t touch him!”

_The king laughed. “And what would you do about it? The only thing you can do is try to keep me… entertained.”_

The goblin king’s laughter of amusement echoed in his ears, and Bofur was determined to stay awake, no matter what the sour liquid was supposed to do to him. He gritted his teeth, and kept struggling to get out of the iron grips around his arms and legs. His back arched from the pain he was causing to himself, but he didn’t care.

“You c-can’t touch him! I’m still… I’m still…” A drawn-out cry escaped his throat. “Don’t touch him! Don’t touch Ori!” His breath hitched into sobs. “Please… don’t touch Ori…”

“Bofur, Ori’s safe, and so are you. Please, listen…”

Bilbo’s voice again. Why was his mind tormenting him with his hobbit’s whispered voice trying to make him give in? He couldn’t give in. He couldn’t, no matter who was telling him to.

Bofur’s struggling faltered to a short moment, then his muscles strained even harder than before to show he was still conscious and kicking. “Hurt me!” he shouted. Hot tears stung in his eyes and trailed down into his hair. “Please…” he was outright begging now. Dignity no longer had a purpose here, not now, when he had to protect Ori and the others.

Bofur’s fingers spread wide and his bottom lip bled as he bit into it, trying to ride out the newest wave of pain. “Hurt me…” he pleaded, quieter than before. “Beat me, burn me… I’m still… just don’t touch Ori… Better me than Ori… better me than Ori…”

“Bofur, please… that isn’t real.” Bilbo’s barely audible voice now came with a touch to his hair.

Bofur craned his head back to see the hobbit, but once again, he saw nothing there. The touch of the hand smaller than the ones holding him down stayed on his head.

“That isn’t real… You’re safe, with people trying to help you. You must let them, please.”

Bofur suddenly felt exhausted. A low whine came from his mouth as he gave into Bilbo’s voice. Whether it was real or not no longer mattered, he couldn’t fight any more. His struggling body and kicking legs slowed until he laid still.

He didn’t even struggle as the sour liquid was once again poured into his mouth. He choked, but managed to swallow most of it. The ghostly hand in his hair gently stroked as he shuddered.

A hand laid on his bare chest. Bofur stiffened and closed his eyes, expecting the worst. He couldn’t fight anymore, couldn’t speak, could barely breathe through the stabbing pain in his chest. He focused on that touching and stroking of his hair. It was enough to bring him some small sense of calm.

“Be brave, Bofur… I love you…”

Be brave… He could do that, especially if his hobbit was asking him to. He could feel himself slipping away into greyness. He barely heard that feminine voice warn, “I’m sorry, but this will be painful,” before speaking in that foreign language. He was conscious enough to weakly chuckle in response it. Painful? The fire in his chest had spread to the tips of his fingers and toes, it seemed there was no part of him not experiencing pain in some way.

The fingers of the hand on Bofur’s chest spread wide, and that fire began to cool and recede from his extremities. His straining limbs relaxed as the pain there faded. His eyelids fluttered at the relief. Bilbo’s voice soothed, “That’s it, Bofur...”

The fire in his torso suddenly turned to ice, and his limbs stiffened. His mouth opened and his brows furrowed in confusion. Then the agony came in the form of sharp frigid stabs as the broken ribs moved. He had no air in his lungs to cry out, and his mouth hung open in a wordless scream as his body convulsed, his back arching.

The multiple pairs of hands held down his legs and arms again, as the woman speaking what sounded like incantations continued. His hobbit’s voice in his ear continued the efforts in soothing and calming him. But the iced stabs to his chest seemed to go on forever, blocking out any other sensations…

Bofur’s body suddenly slackened, dropping back down to the table. The hand on his chest drew back from his bare skin, and the ones around his wrists and ankles also withdrew. The coldness slipped away into a warmth. He couldn’t move, everything having taken a heavy toll on his strength. He blinked, and for the first time everything came into focus.

“Breathe, slowly. Deeper than what you are now,” the owner of the feminine voice, a red-haired elf, encouraged. Four other elves, dressed as guards, surrounded him.

Bofur hesitated, wary of breathing normally. After all the pain he had just been through, he didn’t know if he could handle any more. But Bilbo’s whispered encouragement convinced him. He took one breath, his aching body tensing at the expected pain. At the lack of any, he took another, and another, until he had settled into his natural rhythm. His inhales and little exhaled moans were hoarse, but he could finally breathe again.

The smaller hand in his hair suddenly disappeared as the elf woman came closer to his head. “Bilbo?” Bofur rasped.

“I don’t know who this Bilbo of yours is, but I assure you, you’re safe.” The female elf turned to the others and said something to them in Elvish. The four guards left, and the woman smiled down at the dwarf.

Now that he was in a more coherent state, Bofur could see that he was in a much smaller space than the goblin cavern, the orange-tinted lighting caused by amber lanterns. He turned his head to the side and saw shelves of various herbs and jars lining the wall. He was in some sort of healing room. The elves had healed him?

The woman laid a comforting hand on Bofur’s forearm. “Quiet now, and rest. You nearly died, and you still have some healing to go before you are completely well.” She went over to a table, and Bofur heard the sound of water wringing from a cloth.

That small hand reappeared in Bofur’s hair. “I’m still here,” said Bilbo’s barely audible voice. “I’m not leaving you.”

Bofur couldn’t help the close-mouthed little smile. He still couldn’t see the hobbit, but that voice and soft touch was enough. He simply lay there, slowly blinking, all energy spent. He barely flinched when the elf returned, and gently wiped away the blood from his face and neck with cool water. Then she gave him water to drink. He coughed a little, but the slight ached twinge that resulted was nothing compared to the stabbing pains that action had caused before. The elf also gave him a sip of something slightly sweet.

“I will take you back to your fellows, once you have rested enough here.”

Bofur managed a weak nod, and noticed that his bruised neck didn’t hurt so much either. He stared up to the ceiling, blinking slowly, not thinking of much, still in a state of shock.

That ghostly hand withdrew from his hair, and reappeared to slowly interlock its fingers between Bofur’s. “I’m still here,” came the whisper as the backs of another set of fingers tenderly began to stroke his cheek. Bofur nuzzled against them, and they flipped over to caress his face. “I’m here… I love you…”

“…love you…” Bofur breathed.

“You were so brave.” The hand grasping Bofur’s tightened slightly. Bofur felt a soft breath on his face before a pair of lips gently pressed to his forehead in a kiss. “So very brave. For Ori, the others… You’re safe now. Close your eyes.”

Bofur couldn’t help but to obey Bilbo’s voice, whether it was real or not.

“Sleep… I won’t leave you.”

Bofur let himself slip into sleep, accompanied by the soft caressing of the one he loved.

 

Bilbo stepped back from Bofur when the elf woman returned to his side to redress him in his undershirt and scarf. He followed as she carried him back to wherever he had come from, accompanied by a guard. Which, to Bilbo’s relief, was where they had all the dwarves locked up.

“They’ve brought Bofur back!” cried out Ori.

Almost immediately, the dungeon was filled with the dwarves yelling out questions of Bofur’s condition. The loudest was Bifur’s Khuzdul. The guard commanded, “Quiet!” after unlocking the door to Bofur’s cell.

The dwarves did quiet enough for the elf woman to say, “He will live. He simply needs rest.”

That seemed to be enough for the dwarves, except Bifur, whose hands were gripping the bars of the door so hard his knuckles were white, and he kept barking at the two elves in Khuzdul.

Bilbo stood by Bofur’s cell as the female elf gently laid him on the bench, wishing he could allow himself to be locked in with him. But he still had a job to do.

The guard went to Bifur and Bombur’s cell, pointing his polearm weapon at the distressed dwarf. “I said quiet, and back away from the door!”

Bifur shouted a defiant response, despite Bombur’s hand on his shoulder trying to calm him. The elf thrusted his weapon forward, but Bifur stood his ground. The female elf hurried from Bofur’s cell, leaving the door open. “Don’t hurt him!” she commanded.

“But, Tauriel-“

Tauriel raised her hand, and the guard fell silent. She looked to Bombur. “What is his problem?”

Bifur tried to answer for himself, reaching his hand through the bars to point to Bofur’s cell. The guard stabbed the polearm forward again as a warning.

Bombur spoke, “Bofur... we’re his family. One of us should be with him, make sure he’s alright. Let Bifur go to him, please?”

“There’s no need for that. He’s been healed,” the guard responded. He snarled at the way Bifur growled at him.

“For pity’s sake, please let Bifur be with him!” Ori called out.

“He’ll keep up the shouting and trying to break down the door if you don’t,” Gloin added.

“He should be grateful we healed his kin at all,” the guard sneered.

“That’s enough,” Tauriel said to the other elf. “I see no harm in this, and someone should look after him.” She looked to Bombur. “He can understand me?” At the nod, she took the set of keys from her belt and unlocked the door. “You will not try an escape,” she warned.

Bifur shook his head, and when the door opened, bolted directly to Bofur’s open cell, the guard and Tauriel right behind. He grasped one of Bofur’s hands between both of his own and pressed his forehead to the unconscious younger dwarf’s.

“He is only sleeping, and should awaken soon enough,” Tauriel informed.

Bifur turned his head slightly and asked a question, now noticeably more calm.

“He nearly died, but he is strong, and I did everything I could to help him. He is not completely healed, so he still will need rest. And food, when he awakens.” The elf gestured to the plate of fruit and bread and cup of water that was still on the small table in the corner.

Bifur gave an affirmative grunt. Tauriel turned to leave, and Bifur glanced from her to Bofur. He quickly shot up and grabbed her hand. She whipped around, and the guard stepped forward with his weapon raised. Tauriel raised her free hand to gesture for the guard to not attack, and she didn’t wrench her hand from Bifur’s grasp.

Bifur silently looked up at her for a few seconds, then brought the back of her hand up to his forehead. He let go after a short moment and stepped back. Tauriel nodded in understanding, adding, “You are welcome.” Then she closed and locked the door, and left the dungeon with the guard.

Bifur picked up his cousin’s hat from the ground where it had fallen in his coughing fit, dusting it off and placing it on Bofur’s other side. He sat on the bench behind the younger dwarf and gently pulled him up to cradle his head and torso in his lap, lowering his own head until his mouth rested in Bofur’s hair.

Bilbo watched for a few minutes more before breaking himself away. He still had to find a way out of this kingdom. Though, even if he found that right away, he would give Bofur a full day to rest. After not only the stress put on his body from the injury, but also the healing process, he needed it.

Bilbo slipped out of the dungeons, unseen and unheard, deciding which way to try to go now.

 

The first thing Bofur became aware of was the familiar arms around him. “Bifur…?” He felt too exhausted to even open his eyes.

“ _Yes, I’m here._ ”

“… thought they put you with Bombur.”

“ _I convinced them you needed me more._ ”

Bofur slowly blinked his eyes open, and nestled closer against his cousin. He could feel some strength returning to him.

“ _How do you feel?”_

Bofur took a few breaths. “I can breathe again, properly.” He then took a deep one and winced. “Though it still hurts when I go too deep.”

Bofur nodded, then said, “ _I should be upset at you, for not letting us know before you got that bad. But I’m just grateful you’re still with us now._ ”

“I… I thought I couldn’t let the elves know that I was hurt, that they… they would use me to get what they wanted from us.” Bofur shuddered. “And I didn’t know that I had gotten that bad. I was nearly asleep one minute, then the next…”

Bifur leaned over to grab the plate of food and cup of water. Both were quiet as he helped Bofur eat. When the food was half gone, Bofur pushed the plate away and relaxed back against Bifur, feeling himself beginning to drift into sleep again.

“Bilbo… he was there, with me,” Bofur said softly.

“ _Bilbo? You’re certain?_ ”

“Aye,” Bofur let his eyes close. “Funny thing was, I couldn’t see him.” At his cousin’s silence, he added, “Maybe I was hallucinating… I was in so much pain, and whatever the elves gave me…”

Bifur patted Bofur’s arm. “ _You need to rest._ ”

“But he felt too real to be… be a hallucination…” Bofur’s words began to slur. “He was talking to me… touching me… but I couldn’t see him…”

“ _You’ve been through much. Rest now._ ”

“Sorry for all this.” The last thing Bofur managed to say before falling to sleep was a whispered, “…love you, Bifur…”


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing Bofur did when Bilbo unlocked the door to his cell was pull the hobbit into a short needy kiss. The second thing was answer the question in Bilbo’s eyes. “I’m alright, better than before.”

That short exchange would have to be enough for a while, with Bilbo leading the company down into the cellars. Bofur was ashamed of his frustrated outburst, and turned with an apologetic look to Bilbo before climbing into a barrel.

“So what do we do now?” Bofur asked.

This time it was Bilbo’s turn for an apologetic look. “Hold your breath.”

“Hold my breath? What do you mean-“ Then the barrels rolled and dropped down, splashing into the water below the cellar floor. Bofur let out a hissed breath at the impact. His ribs were still tender, but at least they could now withstand a more normal level of abuse like this.

Bilbo soon joined them, minus a barrel of his own and having to hold onto Nori’s. Then they were off down the river. Most of it passed by in a blur to Bofur, who was just trying to stay in his barrel through the rapids and dodge arrows and being jumped on by orcs.

By the end, he had simply hunkered down in his barrel as far as he could, letting the current take him wherever it would. When they reached a calm part of the river, he popped back up, spitting out some water. He glanced around, doing a quick headcount. “I think we’ve outrun the orcs.”

“Not for long. Come on, get to shore,” Thorin said.

Bofur let out a breath of relief at dry land. He winced and unconsciously placed a protective hand on his chest. Bilbo rushed over to him, eyes alight with worry. Bofur put his other hand on the back of the hobbit’s head and pulled him in close. “Just a bit of being knocked around in the rapids. Probably going to find some bruises in places I didn’t even know I had come tonight.”

“You certain?”

Bofur kissed Bilbo’s forehead. “If my ribs were still broken, you’d all know it without a doubt, after what we’ve just been through.” He heard a grunt nearby, and broke away from Bilbo when he saw Kili drop down to one knee. All concern for his own state went away at the sight of the bleeding wound in the younger dwarf’s thigh.

At Thorin’s order to take a couple minutes of rest, Bofur found himself immediately pulled aside by Bifur. “I just told Bilbo I’m fine. Please believe me when I tell you?”

“ _You’re hurting._ ”

“I’m sure we all are. How’s your head?”

“ _As it’s always been. You are being honest with me?_ ”

“Aye. You know I’m doing much better. Though I suppose that doesn’t stop you from worrying, does it?”

Bifur shook his head, and turned away to look down the length of the river. Bofur had just turned to check on his brother as an arrow shot past in front of him, knocking something from Kili’s hand. He ducked, putting a protective arm around Bombur’s shoulders.

“Do that again, and I’ll kill you,” the dark-haired man threatened.

Balin took the lead and stepped towards the man, raising his hands up to show he wasn’t armed. “You must be a man of the lake?”

“Aye…” the man replied, drawing his arrow back slightly.

“That barge over there… it wouldn’t be available for hire, would it?”

Bofur, along with the rest of the company, was relieved when Balin successfully negotiated with the bargeman, who did at least seem polite and willing to help them. And they would do anything to avoid having to walk around the lake and risk getting caught by the orcs that certainly weren’t far behind them.

Bofur took his small coinbag from his pants and pressed it into Balin’s hand as he stepped on the boat. At least the elves hadn’t seen reason to take their money from them in their search of their possessions. He went to the front of the boat, where Bifur, Bombur, and Bilbo joined him.

All of them were still wet, and it would only get colder as evening fell on the frigid lake. Bofur took off his gloves and helped Bilbo out of his red jacket to let them dry while it was still warm enough to do without them. “Holding up alright?” Bofur asked quietly, pulling the hobbit close and rubbing his back.

Bilbo nodded and folded his arms between them to make himself as small as possible and keep as much heat in as he could. “You’re a little warmer than me,” he commented.

“Too bad I’m not dryer than you.”

“I’ll make do.”

Bofur dropped his nose into Bilbo’s damp curls. Quietly, he said, “If we ever manage a moment of privacy, I’d like to ask you about something.”

“As long as that privacy is somewhere warm and dry.”

“Aye,” Bofur agreed. He tightened his arms around Bilbo’s shivering body. “You’re alright? From the river, I mean. You weren’t even in a barrel to protect you from rocks and arrows and the like.”

“Bruises, scratches, but nothing more.”

Bofur half-grinned. “I’d like to check you over myself. It’s only fair, since you’ve seen my battle scars from the goblins.”

It got the desired reaction from the hobbit, as Bilbo chuckled then replied, “As long as we’re in that dry and warm privacy.” He added, “Though I am fine, I promise.”

With the barrels now loaded onto the barge, the man said, “Make yourselves comfortable. This is a large lake.” Within a moment, the boat started moving.

Bofur stepped back, pulling Bilbo along, until his back reached the wall of the barge. Then he slid down to sit. Bilbo followed suit, and slid down next to him. Bofur wasted no time in taking Bilbo’s legs, swinging them over his own thighs, and pulling the hobbit into his lap. Bilbo didn’t protest, too tired and cold to, and nuzzled the top of his head against the dwarf’s chin.

They stayed like that for a while, keeping each other as warm as possible. The setting sun disappeared behind thick clouds and fog. The wind and chill off the frigid lake made everyone shiver harder.

With a sigh of reluctance, Bilbo left Bofur’s strong arms to check on the status of his jacket and the dwarf’s gloves. “Half-dry,” he said.

“It’ll have to be good enough,” Bofur responded, standing and taking his gloves.

Bilbo shrugged on his jacket and said, “Need to stretch my legs,” before starting to walk around the barge.

Bofur nodded. He turned to look out across the lake, not that he could see anything in front of them because of the thick fog. He moved closer to Bombur and Bifur, and grabbed a sail rope. His thoughts were on what the elves had given him. His life, a second chance. He couldn’t help but wonder what Thorin had thought of that, with his well-known hatred of the elves. Bofur couldn’t agree with that hatred, and never really had. The ones in Rivendell had been pleasant enough, and more than patient with the company. The elves of Mirkwood hadn’t been kind, throwing them in the dungeon without a second thought, but one had saved his life, which meant they couldn’t be all bad.

A giant dark looming shape yanked Bofur from his thoughts. “Look out!” he cried, flinching back. He calmed a little when the shape clarified into an ancient stone pillar, and the barge was quickly surrounded by them.

“What are you trying to do? Kill us?” Thorin instantly accused the man.

“Master Dwarf, I was born and bred on these waters. If I wanted to drown you, I would not do so here.”

Bofur couldn’t stop the second-long glare at Thorin’s back. He didn’t agree with their leader’s apparent suspicion of men, either, especially one who had agreed to smuggle them into Laketown and get them clothes and weapons.

“Bard. His name is Bard,” Bilbo said in response to the grumbling of Thorin and Dwalin.

“How do you know that?” Bofur inquired.

“I asked him,” Bilbo said with a slight smile. Bofur’s heart warmed at it. He really hoped he would be able to find a moment alone with the hobbit in Laketown.

Getting back into the barrels to hide from guards at a fishing dock was no fun, especially once they all had fish dumped on top of them, to the point of completely covering them. Bofur could barely hear anything going on outside of his barrel, and gasped in the cold fresh air when he was knocked over and fell out.

“I hope we’ll get a chance to bathe here too,” Dori remarked.

“Aye, that would be nice,” Bofur responded, working on dislodging the fish that had stuck to Bifur’s axe.

After an altercation with some guards, and climbing up through a toilet, the company was finally safe in Bard’s humble home.

“Here,” Bard handed Bofur some clothing, and walked among the dwarves to hand out the rest. “Not your size, but it’s dry and will keep you warm.”

Soon after telling them about the only good weapons being in the town armoury, Bard inexplicably left. The dwarves and Bilbo took the opportunity to leave as well, sneaking around until they found the armoury as night set in.

Kili’s injury proved a hindrance, getting them all quickly caught and captured, and shoved along to the town square. Thorin managed to dissipate the ill will towards them with promise of a share of the treasure from Erebor, and the Master of this town welcomed them, despite Bard’s protesting. In celebration of the partnership, a large meal was prepared in the Master’s hall, much to the gratitude of the hungry dwarves.

Bofur had just fastened the belt on the blue robe of the guard he had been given when Bilbo approached, absentmindedly tugging at the sleeves of the long blue jacket he had received from Bard. “Lucky for us the Master decided to help,” Bofur remarked.

“You mean lucky for his greed?”

“Can’t exactly blame him for wanting a share of the treasure.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Bofur glanced around to see the other dwarves were dispersing from the room where they had changed into their new clothes, probably to wait in the dining hall for the food. Bifur gestured for them to follow, and Bofur shook his head. “We’ll be along in a bit.”

Bifur accepted that reply, and went after the other dwarves.

“You said you wanted to ask me about something in private?” Bilbo prompted.

“Not in here, potential for eavesdroppers. Would you mind going outside?”

“If it’s not too cold,” Bilbo replied, pulling on the pair of too-large fingerless gloves he had gotten from Bard.

Bofur warmly smiled and placed his hat on the hobbit’s head. “That should help.”

Bilbo returned the smile, then took Bofur’s hand and let the dwarf lead him outside. The two door guards glanced at them but didn’t question as they emerged out into the cool late-fall air. At least it had stopped snowing, and the wind from before had died down.

They found a bench under shelter at the side of the building. Bofur sat firs, then pulled Bilbo into his lap. Bilbo giggled as he fell against the dwarf, “Bofur-“

Bofur pulled Bilbo into a kiss, and they shifted their position until the hobbit was straddling his thighs. When they broke off for breath, Bilbo looked at him, unable to hide the concern in his eyes.

“Don’t you start fretting about my injuries,” Bofur chided.

“Right, sorry.” Bilbo placed his hands on the dwarf’s shoulders to stabilize himself better.

Bofur caressed Bilbo’s face between his hands. “Your concern is one of the things I love about you.” He pulled him in for another deep kiss, their visible exhales mingling together for a second before their lips met. When they pulled apart, Bofur whispered, “I promise you, I’m doing much better. And this is the first opportunity I’ve gotten to properly kiss you, so I’m going to take advantage.”

The cold didn’t bother them as they kissed and tenderly touched each other. Bofur’s hand going up to let his fingers tangle in those curls under his hat, his other hand clutching at the back of the blue jacket, his mouth sliding down Bilbo’s jaw to kiss his neck… Bilbo’s little moans, his fingers tangling in Bofur’s loose hair, his breath ghosting over Bofur’s ear… Bilbo’s little giggles as Bofur’s facial hair occasionally tickled him…

They went as long as they could before needing to stop for an extended break. Bilbo moved his hands up Bofur’s neck to settle below his ears. Bofur brought their foreheads together and closed his eyes for a moment as they simply breathed together.

“Mahal I love you,” Bofur said as he opened his eyes.

“And I love you with all my heart,” Bilbo replied. They sat for another minute in affectionate quiet before the hobbit sighed, “You said you had something to ask me about?”

“Aye, I do.” Bofur settled his hands on Bilbo’s chest, loosely grasping the lapels of the jacket. He swallowed before starting, “When we fought the spiders, my injuries got worse. I didn’t let the elves who captured us know, not thinking we could trust them. But then… I… well, I needed to be healed, and they took me to do that.”

“Something I am very grateful for, like everyone else.”

Bofur’s brows furrowed for a second. “The thing is… I felt your presence while they were healing me, while I was… reliving what the goblins did to me. I… I heard your voice, felt your touch comforting me… but I couldn’t see you. Had to be a hallucination, right?” He paused to study Bilbo’s expression, and the hobbit’s nose twitched as he tried to keep neutral. “The more I’ve thought about it, the more I feel that it wasn’t a hallucination, that you were somehow actually there with me.”

Bilbo was still for a moment, then he nodded slowly.

Bofur smiled and nuzzled his cheek against Bilbo’s. He pulled back and said, “Now I’m curious how you managed that trick, being invisible in a room full of elves and talking to me.”

Bilbo glanced down at their laps, then shyly brought his gaze back up, keeping his lips tightly closed.

“Not going to tell, huh? I suppose you can’t divulge all your secrets to me,” Bofur said with a kiss to the hobbit’s nose. “So what Gandalf said about hobbits being sneaky and unseen when they want to be, that’s true?”

“I’ve discovered… talents I didn’t know I had,” Bilbo replied.

Bofur chuckled. “Indeed.” He went in for another deep kiss.

When they broke apart this time, Bilbo leaned forward to full lay on Bofur. “Not hurting you, am I?”

“No. You won’t break me.” Bofur wrapped his arms tightly around Bilbo’s back. “You’re not too cold?”

“We can stay out here for another few minutes.” Bilbo did snuggle closer against the dwarf, turning his head to bury his face in his neck. “We’re so close now, to Erebor, I mean. We leave for the last part of the journey tomorrow morning.”

“Aye, we do,” Bofur sighed.

“Which means we’re close to me actually having to do the job I signed up to do.”

Bofur’s heart felt as though it had been squeezed a little, with dread and anxiety. “Yes…” He swallowed, forcing himself not to voice his fears. Though his hands clutched tighter at the blue jacket.

“Bofur?”

“Hm?”

“I’ll be alright, you know that, don’t you?”

“I have faith in you.” Bofur really did not want to say his fears out loud.

Bilbo let out a little laugh that tickled Bofur’s neck. “You have faith in me, even though you merely describing a dragon made me faint in my dining room?”

Bofur laughed lightly as well. “You haven’t fainted since, so yes I still have faith.”

“Good to know.” Bilbo sat up and leaned in to press his forehead to the dwarf’s. “Bofur…” His voice hitched in a strange way.

“At the first sign of trouble, I’ll go in after you. I’ll find you and protect you.”

“Like you have been so far on this journey?”

Bofur nodded. “Aye, just like I always have. Just like you’ve done for me lately.” At Bilbo’s shiver, he said, “Come on, let’s head back inside before someone comes looking for us.”

They stood, and Bofur kissed Bilbo’s cheek. Their hands grasped each other’s as they went back inside to the warmth and smell of good food.

********

Horns suddenly sounded in Bofur’s head. He groggily blinked as he realized where he was. “By my beard, is that the time?” He came to full awareness, bumping his head against the underside of the table as he pushed himself up to his feet. He took a quick swig from a half-empty glass as he ran from the dining hall to the front doors.

“Wait!” he cried out, leaping down the stairs. He shoved through the crowd of people where the boat to take them to the lake shore closest to Erebor had been arranged to be. He made it through the last barrier, only to have his hopes crushed as he saw the boat already a good distance down the channel. He sighed and turned away to glance around, expression slightly lifting when he saw Fili, Kili, and Oin nearby. “Did you miss the boat too?”

Kili nearly collapsed, and Bofur and the other two rushed back to the Master’s hall, only to be denied any help. The only option left was Bard, who did let them in after seeing Kili’s pale and shivering state.

Bofur pushed the disappointment and agitation at being left behind away to help his injured friend. Only when Kili slipped into a somewhat quiet state, a brief respite he knew, did Bofur sit heavily on a chair.

“What’s that?” Fili asked, pointing at Bofur’s guard jacket pocket.

Bofur looked down to see the corner of a paper sticking out. He pulled it out, unfolded it, and tilted his head at the Dwarven runes in Bifur’s handwriting.

‘ _Sorry to do this to you, though it is easier with you having drank too much last night. I know the elves helped you heal, but I know you’re not completely healed. There is still risk that something could kill you much more easily. You still need to let yourself rest. I hope you understand I do this from love, not from thinking you a burden. Be well, and join us in Erebor when you can._ ’

Bofur reread the note a few times, a mix of emotions going through him before he settled on resigned acceptance. “Love you too, you sly badger,” he muttered.

He glanced over to Kili, lying on a large chair, who had started to shiver heavily again. He couldn’t feel any true anger at being left behind, not when it meant he was here to help the young dwarf. He said a quick prayer to Mahal to protect the rest of the company, his heart with three members in particular. Then he got up to boil a pot of water to help Oin prepare herbs.


	9. Chapter 9

Whenever Kili cried out and his body trembled from pain, Bofur had to shake his head to clear it of his own memories of screaming and shaking from the agony he had suffered. He had to focus on helping the younger dwarf.

“… feverfew…” Bard said.

“Those are of no use to me. I need kingsfoil,” Oin responded over another cry from Kili.

“Kingsfoil? It’s a weed, we feed it to the pigs,” Bard replied.

Bofur straightened. “Pigs? Weed, right.” To Kili, he warned, “Don’t go anywhere.” Then he hurried from the house. He knew what kingsfoil looked like, or at the very least would recognize it when he saw it.

He didn’t know where to start looking, but he investigated any sign of animals as he rushed through the streets. He also checked out any weed-looking plants in windowsills. Finally, he spotted a pig in a pen with a weed in its mouth. He snatched the plant and quickly looked it over. With his prize found, he ran back to Bard’s home.

Bofur was crossing the bridge near the bargeman’s house when he heard the short scream. He glanced up in time to see an orc pouncing down on him. He wished he had brought some sort of weapon with him as he jumped back from the sword slicing for his chest, the kingsfoil dropping from his hand.

He barely managed to duck the next blow and grab the orc’s wrist. The orc kneed him in the stomach, brought a fist down on the back of his neck, and struck him in the middle of his back with the hilt of the sword, making him drop to his hands and knees. Bofur kicked out, catching the orc in the leg and buying himself a couple seconds to try to recover and get away.

Bofur shot forward, only to be seized by his jacket and yanked backwards. He scrambled to gain any purchase on wooden bridge, but found himself propelled through the air and slamming back-first into a wall. He fell to the bench below, which overbalanced to the side and he fell off the platform. He landed on a solid object with the middle of his back and hit his head hard on the wood. He blinked back stars and stifled a cry as he rolled off the metal object.

Bofur was barely aware of the orc approaching him, until it gurgled after an arrow shot through its head, and it dropped dead to the ground. With the immediate danger gone, Bofur closed his eyes and coughed at the throbbing pain spreading across his torso. At least the pain wasn’t centered on his previously broken ribs, but he knew he would have a very bruised back soon. He rolled over onto his front, breathing heavily.

He came to his full senses a few minutes later at the sounds of running footsteps heading away from Bard’s home. He lifted his head and shook it, his gaze falling on the kingsfoil a few yards away, where it had fallen. To his relief, it didn’t look damaged from the fight.

Bofur pushed himself up to his feet, snatched up the plant, and hurried to the door of Bard’s house. He froze halfway up the stairs at the sight of an elf woman stepping out, her hands going behind her back for her weapons. She also froze for a second, and Bofur recognized her as the one who had saved his life in Mirkwood.

“Athelas…” the elf whispered, almost in awe as she grabbed the kingsfoil from Bofur’s hands and stared at it.

All Bofur could manage was a quietly shocked, “What are you doing?”

The elf looked up to him, and stated, “I’m going to save him.”

Bofur had no doubt that she could save Kili, and would, if what she had done for him was to be matched. He followed her inside, stepping over various debris on the floor to help Fili and Oin lift Kili onto the dining table.

Bofur grabbed a lit candle to hold near the elf woman’s hands as she cut at the trousers around Kili’s wound. With his free hand, Bofur held the spasming Kili down by the arm, having to blink away the memories of being in Kili’s position, of friends, family, and elves holding him down to save him.

Then the elf began saying something that sounded like an incantation in Elvish. Perhaps it was the same as what she had said over Bofur, though he couldn’t recall. Still, it worked to not only help Kili, but to soothe Bofur’s anxiety as well. He glanced over the table to Fili and Oin, and saw it had the same effect on them.

The elf finished, and wrapped Kili’s thigh with a bandage. Bofur let out a deep breath and stepped back, running a hand over his face at the relief of this particular disaster now averted. He looked down at the injured dwarf, Kili’s eyes staring up at the ceiling and his chest rising in calm breaths. Bofur wondered if this was what he had looked like after he had ben healed.

“Tauriel…” Kili whispered, his fingers reaching out.

Bofur turned away to check if Bard’s children were alright, to give Kili some privacy as he professed his love for the elf. A soft smile flickered over his face as he heard the exhausted but earnest words from the other dwarf. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t judge. After all, he had his hobbit, why not let Kili have his elf?

Bofur flinched at the unexpected slim hand on his shoulder and turning him away from his conversation with Sigrid. He smiled at Tauriel, and said, “I never did get the chance to thank you for saving my life.”

Tauriel nodded, a warm smile on her face. “I believe the black-and-white haired one did that for you when we brought you back to the cells.”

“Probably not in so many words you could understand,” Bofur replied lightly.

“He made his meaning clear enough.” Tauriel paused for a second. “Your method of escape does concern me with your injuries. May I?”

Bofur was about to protest the elf looking him over, but decided it was a good idea to allow her. He took off the guard coat, and was relieved she didn’t ask him to strip off his shirt. Tauriel stepped in close and raised her hand, carefully resting it on his chest and splaying her fingers. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly for a minute. Bofur slightly shivered, feeling a sense of cold within him. Nowhere near the iciness that had been there during the healing, but enough to be noticeable.

Neither of them spoke until Tauriel took her hand away. “No alarming damage,” she said.

“Good to know, considering I was left behind to heal.” There was no bitterness in Bofur’s voice. He poured himself a cup of water and sank down into a chair.

They didn’t have long to rest and recover from the orc attack, the town bell ringing out an alarm. Tauriel stepped outside, and after a moment, came back in. In an urgent tone, she said, “We have to leave, now.”

They all hurried to the family boat, and Bofur and Fili grabbed an oar each, doing as Tauriel told them to avoid the dragon fire coming from the sky and the debris raining down from burning buildings. They lost Bain along the way, the boy grabbing a hook and running off soon after they saw Bard in the bell tower.

The night was filled with fire, smoke, and water, even after the dragon fell dead in the middle of the town. The morning brought with it the chill of winter. The four dwarves said their goodbyes to Tauriel, Sigrid, and Tilda and found an empty boat to use to get to the shore nearest Erebor. Now that they were safe, their minds were on those in the company who had gone on without them.

The hike to the front gate of the mountain wasn’t too bad, and they were dressed warmly enough for the chill in the air.

Bofur’s heart dropped at the sight of the smashed entrance, and hurried inside. “Bombur? Bifur? Anyone?” he called out. At the lack of any answer, the four of them ran further in.

They reached a network of walkways, and were greeted by an urgent shout of “Stop!”

“Bilbo?” Bofur said under his breath.

“Stop right there!” Bilbo called out again, his bare feet slapping against the stone as he ran towards them.

“He’s alive,” Oin stated, and all four of them were relieved they had found someone.

Bofur let out a relieved sigh with a warm smile as the hobbit came into view. He stepped forward to embrace him, but stopped at the anxious expression on Bilbo’s face.

“You have leave, now. We all have to leave,” Bilbo said, his tone hard.

“Leave? But we’ve only just arrived,” Bofur replied, letting his confusion show on his face.

Then Bilbo told them about Thorin not being himself, and Fili took off first to the treasury, the rest quickly following. Bofur glanced to Bilbo along the way, hoping they would have time to properly reunite soon.

The four dwarves froze on the ledge overlooking the treasury, the sight of so much gold almost mesmerizing. It was almost too much for Bofur to take in, mountains of wealth in gold and jewels and trinkets. He couldn’t help but think that even one-fourteenth of it would be too much for him. Of course he had heard tales of the wealth of Erebor before it was lost to the dragon, but this just seemed ludicrous to him.

His thoughts were interrupted by Thorin stepping into view, a crown on his head and a lavish cloak over his shoulders. It only took a few seconds for Bofur to realize that something wasn’t quite right about their leader. This wasn’t the same Thorin he had started this quest with.

“Come on,” Bilbo said quietly behind the four dwarves after Thorin officially welcomed them to Erebor. “It’s best to leave him alone for a bit.”

“We should go down there,” Fili replied.

“I really wouldn’t. And the others, all of them survived. I’ll take you to them.”

All thoughts of Thorin left Bofur’s mind at that. He saw that his love was alive and whole, and needed to make sure his brother and cousin were as well. It took another moment of watching their uncle before Fili and Kili relented to the suggestion.

Bilbo hurriedly led them through the city, to what looked like a large dining room.

“Balin!” Bofur shouted when he saw the white-haired dwarf sitting with his back to them. He grinned and spread his arms wide. Almost immediately the four who had been left behind were encased in a mass of arms and bodies as the others rushed forward to greet them.

Bofur kept his arms around Bombur and Bofur the longest, and held them the tightest. “When we saw the dragon head off to Laketown…” Bombur said into his ear.

“I know, I know, but I’m alright,” Bofur assured. He let out a shaky breath and slightly pulled back to get a better look at his family. “Looks like you are, too.”

After another moment, Bifur pulled away and asked, almost sheepishly, “ _You saw my note?_ ”

“Aye, I did, and don’t you worry. I’ve got not one ill will towards you.”

“ _You don’t?_ ”

“No. It meant I was there to help Kili.” Bofur added with a chuckle, “Besides, seems like you all managed just fine without me.”

“Just barely,” Bombur responded.

After dinner, where both groups shared their stories, Bofur took Bilbo’s hand and led him away from the others. “Taking on a dragon all by yourself, with naught but your wits?” he said once out of sight and earshot of the company.

“And somehow surviving,” Bilbo replied with a little nod.

The two stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, then went in for a desperate kiss. Bilbo jumped up and hooked his ankles around Bofur’s waist partway in, Bofur catching him under the thighs. Bofur grunted at the unexpected weight, and readjusted his hands without breaking the kiss.

When their mouths broke apart to breathe, Bofur leaned back against the wall, still holding Bilbo up against him. They brought their foreheads together and breathed. Bilbo near-whispered, “Bifur told me he had purposely left you behind, and while I missed you, I thought you were at least safe. But then Smaug… I tried to stop him, to reason with him to not go to Laketown, but he…”

Bofur gently hushed the hobbit and drew him into another kiss, softer and more consoling this time. “We’re all here, alive and whole. Whatever happened, we all made it.” He nuzzled his mouth against Bilbo’s cheek, and grinned at the ticklish squirm and giggle.

“I love you.” Bilbo buried his face in the dwarf’s neck.

“By Mahal, do I love you.” Bofur nudged his nose in the curly hair.

“…need you…” Bilbo whispered.

Bofur blinked. “Need me?”

Bilbo pulled back, his expression shy. “I mean, only if you… you’re probably tired from the hike here, and need to rest, and-“

“Bilbo, the only thing I want, and need, right now is you.” Bofur slid down the wall until he was sitting, with Bilbo settled on his lap. He brushed his forehead against the hobbit’s, inviting him in. Bilbo smiled and nudged him back, then captured the dwarf’s lips between his again.


	10. Chapter 10

Bofur took a deep breath through his pipe, and blew out a wisp of smoke, slightly shivering from the cold. Thorin had put him on the shift rotation for the night before the coming battle, and Bofur would’ve much rather been allowed to stay in the room he and Bilbo had taken, snuggled under the warm blankets with the smaller being. He had quietly cursed when Gloin had come in to tell him it was his turn, and had stealthily left his and Bilbo’s bed. It was almost cruel to make him and Bilbo be apart, even for a couple hours, the night before such a huge event.

Bofur didn’t understand it. Thorin had changed, and so quickly. Why not just give the Men of Laketown the gold they had been promised to rebuild their lives? Why not just give Thranduil the chest of white gems that rightfully belonged to him? Compared to the vast amount of wealth in the treasure hoard, they would barely notice that amount missing. Bofur had suggested that he would gladly give up part of his share to the Men, but idea had been quickly but to rest by the angered glare from Thorin. No, this gold was theirs, and only theirs. Not to be shared, even if they wanted to.

Thorin had changed, and yet Bofur still went with the others to the armoury to find armour and weapons to use for the upcoming fight. The expression of alarm on Bilbo’s face as he and the others marched past had nearly been too much for him. After the group had broken for the night, Bilbo had hurried to him, eyes shining with unspent tears, begging Bofur to not change like Thorin had.

He hadn’t changed, he knew he hadn’t, and assured the hobbit of that before they went to bed. So why would he be up on this wall tomorrow morning, dressed for war? Was it a sense of loyalty to Thorin? He was still his king, no matter what mental sickness had overtaken him…

“Bofur?”

Bofur turned in his chair, a little smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Couldn’t sleep without me?”

Bilbo reached the top of the wall, and stood still. Bofur’s brow furrowed at rope hanging off his shoulder. “What’s that for?”

Bilbo glanced down to the stone beneath his feet for a second. “I…” he brought his hand up to gesture, but gave up on that.

“You’re going?”

Bilbo nodded before finding his voice. “Yes, I… I must, you see. I hope you’re not… well...”

Bofur got up from his chair and approached the hobbit, much like he had in that cave before the goblins. Though his intent this time was not the same. “No, I understand. And I won’t try to convince you otherwise.”

Bilbo tilted his head. “Really? You’re not upset that I’m leaving?”

“How could I be?” Bofur set his pipe on a stone and placed his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders. “There’s to be a big battle tomorrow, and you’re not the battling type.”

Bilbo let the rope fall from his shoulder as he rushed forward into Bofur’s arms. “I’m sorry, I am.”

Bofur ran his hands down the back of the hobbit’s head to soothe him. “No, it’s fine. There’s no need to be sorry. Though… if its fear you’re feeling, you could hide. Erebor is vast enough that no one could find you, no matter what happens tomorrow, especially with that stealth trick you’ve got.”

Bilbo slightly pulled back to look into Bofur’s eyes. “I’m afraid, yes. But… but not for me. I’m afraid for all of you… for you, Bofur. I love you… and all this… there’s no need for it. There’s no need to fight, no need to possibly die for this.”

Bofur sighed and led Bilbo over to the chair. He sat, and pulled Bilbo down onto his lap. “I don’t think any of us are going to convince Thorin of that before tomorrow.”

“I know, but perhaps…” Bilbo trailed off, staring out into the distance.

“Perhaps what? If you’ve got any ideas, I’ll hear them out.”

Bilbo turned back to him, opening his mouth. Then he closed it and slightly shook his head. “It’s nothing, and I wouldn’t have you in trouble with him over considering it.”

There was something in Bilbo’s tone that suggested to Bofur that the hobbit wanted to tell him. A plan, an idea, a fear… something. But Bofur trusted him, and didn’t push for it.

They sat in quiet for a few minutes, hands entwined and resting their foreheads together. Bofur was grateful that Bilbo didn’t ask him to come with him. He didn’t want to have to say no. He didn’t want to tell him that he couldn’t leave his brother and cousin behind to face the battle without him. Despite his misgivings, his place was here. In return, he didn’t suggest that Bilbo hide in Erebor again.

“Bilbo?”

“Yes?”

“You will… you will come back, right? After all the fighting is over?”

“Of course I will. I wouldn’t just head home now, completely abandon you. Not after all we’ve been through.”

Bofur tightened his hold around the hobbit and let out a slow breath. “Part of me doesn’t want to let you go…”

“I know. Part of me doesn’t want to go.”

“But the other part of me knows I must.”

Neither moved for a long while, except to draw each other into slow melancholy kisses, telling each other all their fears and hopes for tomorrow in that manner, without words.

Finally, Bofur slightly pulled back. “You should go now, before Nori comes to relieve me of the watch.”

Bilbo nodded and got off of Bofur’s lap. “I’ll come back, I promise.”

Bofur stood and picked up the rope from the ground, and tied one end securely around a stone post. As soon as he straightened up, he found himself yanked into a hard and needy kiss. Bilbo broke it a short moment later, and picked up the coiled end of the rope.

“I love you,” the hobbit stated before throwing the rope over the wall.

“Aye, I love you too. Now go on.”

Bilbo nodded with a small smile as he disappeared over the wall. Bofur stood there, watching as he clambered over the broken statue and hurried to Dale.

“Be safe… and may I see you again tomorrow.”

********

“They have the arkenstone,” Kili stated in shock. “Thieves! How came you by the heirloom of our house?” he demanded to the gathered army below.

Bofur’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of the radiating stone in Bard’s hand. While he had never seen the arkenstone personally, it could only be that. He closed his eyes for a second, and quickly knew how they could’ve gotten it. This was what Bilbo hadn’t told him last night, why he had left. He tightened his hands around his weapon, fearing what Thorin might do if he ever found out.

“This is ruse, a filthy lie,” Thorin decided. “The arkenstone is in this mountain. It is a trick.”

“It’s no trick,” spoke up a voice from behind the line of dwarves. They all turned, faces expressing mixes of surprise and confusion towards the hobbit. “The stone is real. I gave it to them.”

Bofur stepped forward to reach out to Bilbo, to touch him or hug him. But Bombur held him back. His eyes met Bilbo’s for a second, silently asking him why he would come back, why he wouldn’t stay away.

Thorin stepped towards Bilbo, seething rage obvious. Bifur grabbed Bofur’s other arm to prevent him from jumping between them. Bofur forced himself to remain still, deciding to interfere if the confrontation became physical.

“Throw him from the rampart!” Thorin ordered.

Bifur and Bombur let go of Bofur, and none of the others moved forward to carry out the command. Bofur didn’t think he would’ve forgiven them if any of them had.

“I’ll do it myself!” Thorin yelled, seizing Bilbo by the lapels of his jacket.

No one held Bofur back. In fact, half of the others surged forward to stop Thorin. The others seemed to be too shocked to move. Bofur got a hold on Thorin’s sleeve, but the leader snarled and shoved him away and down to the ground. He had only gotten up to his knees when Fili and Kili failed to get themselves between Thorin and Bilbo, and Thorin nearly had the hobbit over the edge of the wall.

Bofur’s heart stopped at the naked terror in Bilbo’s face. The thought of his hobbit being dropped over the edge, his body smashing into the stone below… Bofur grit his teeth and pushed himself up, willing to do anything to stop that.

Then everyone froze at the mighty voice of Gandalf, far more powerful than when he had done it in Bag End. Gandalf provided enough of a distraction that made Thorin drop Bilbo on their side of the wall. Fili was the closest and started pulling him back up to his feet. Bofur quickly moved in to take over, putting his arm over Bilbo’s shoulder and putting himself between the hobbit and Thorin as much as he could.

Bofur made little sounds that he hoped were soothing as he hurriedly led Bilbo over to where the rope was. Then he lightly pushed Bilbo forward with a quietly urging, “Go!” Bilbo looked to him, hesitating. Bofur said it again, wishing that he could’ve at least given Bilbo a quick kiss. But they couldn’t waste any time, since Thorin might turn his attention back to the hobbit again.

Bofur watched Bilbo scramble down the rope. He stayed there, his gaze never leaving his hobbit’s form as he rushed across the shattered statue bridge and joined Gandalf. Bofur touched the rope, fighting the urge to join him.

He wouldn’t realize exactly what his actions meant until after Dain and his army arrived, after Azog and the orcs came, and after the battle had started.

********

Bofur went down the steps and walked away from the wall, unable to take the sight and sound of the battle going on below. Unable to watch, knowing the person he loved was down there in the midst of it all. Thorin had ordered them to stay safe behind the wall, not help their friends and fellow dwarves in defending this mountain from the orc army.

So Bofur obeyed, though his heart was torn between his duty to his king and his duty to what he thought was right. He obeyed, even though Bofur did not know if he could ever forgive Thorin for what he had nearly done, for trying to kill the one who had saved their lives multiple times, the one who had risked everything to help them in their quest. In hindsight, sending Bilbo over the wall had been a bad idea. He could’ve told him to hide somewhere in Erebor, like he had suggested last night, though the reason was completely different now. At least here he would be safe from the battle and from Thorin. As safe as he could be, at any rate.

Bofur waved off Bifur’s concerned call of his name, needing to be alone, and left the group of dwarves, minus Thorin. Where their leader had disappeared off to, Bofur didn’t know.

He walked without a destination in mind, and found himself on a landing overlooking the treasury. He stared down at the shining wealth, his conscious a little clearer with the fact that the battle outside wasn’t over this anymore. Now there was actually a reason to fight, one that had brought the dwarves, elves, and men together for a temporary alliance.

And here he was, hiding in the mountain due to the order of his changed king. Bofur had never considered himself a particularly brave person, but he knew he should be out there on the battlefield. Or at least doing something other than hiding behind the high and thick wall.

So lost in his thoughts was he, that he didn’t hear the rushed footsteps coming down the stairs towards him, until the owner of them was practically on top of him. He turned in time to see the fury of Thorin’s face before he was tackled into the wall, his back crashing into the unforgiving stone.

Thorin’s forearm pressed against Bofur’s throat, and he pinned him there with his entire body, giving him no space to push back.

“You!” Thorin spat. “You traitor!”


	11. Chapter 11

“Thor-“ Bofur broke off with a choked sound as Thorin’s forearm dug deeper into his throat, his scarf not doing much to lessen the pressure. He didn’t fight back, didn’t try to push Thorin away, just tried to breathe.

Thorin tilted his head. “You don’t understand what you did, do you.”

Bofur’s eyes widened as he did realize the meaning of helping someone who had been declared an enemy of the king, by the king, escape.

“Treason,” Thorin snarled after a short moment. He pressed closer, until their noses were nearly touching. “I suspected one of you was false… I should’ve known it was you.”

“Thorin, please,” Bofur squeaked out with the little air he had left.

Thorin slightly pulled his arm back, just enough to let Bofur breathe. Bofur wanted to rub at his neck, still slightly bruised from the goblins, but didn’t dare risk any movement that could be interpreted as threatening.

Bofur’s tongue darted out to his bottom lip before he started speaking. “I’m sorry, but Bilbo-“

“Bilbo is a traitor!” Thorin shouted. More quietly, he stated, “And you are his accomplice.”

Bofur did not point out that none of the others had moved to throw Bilbo from the wall, or stop him from leading the hobbit over to the rope. If all Thorin’s rage was focused on him and no one else, Bofur would gladly spare them the king’s wrath.

“You were on watch rotation last night. Did Bilbo leave while you were on the wall?”

Bofur nodded slowly, seeing no point in attempting to lie.

“You allowed him to leave with the arkenstone.”

“I didn’t know he had it,” Bofur replied truthfully, now understanding why Bilbo hadn’t told him his plan. He hadn’t told him in order to prevent this confrontation, but Thorin had taken the initiative anyway.

“You lie,” Thorin responded, voice low and eyes shining with a dark expression Bofur had never seen before in their leader.

“I swear, I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me.”

Thorin shook his head. “How long have you two been planning to steal the arkenstone?”

“We haven’t been. Bilbo said he was going to give it to you, before you changed.”

“Before I changed to what, exactly? Am I not your king? Has that changed?”

“No, no…” Bofur didn’t want to get trapped in that line of questioning. “I didn’t know he had it.”

“I don’t believe you. You and that filthy Shire-rat have been planning this. To find it, keep it for yourselves, and smuggle it away at the first opportunity. No one would suspect Bilbo of ulterior motive leaving the night before a battle he has no real business being part of, so he went. And you stayed.”

Thorin’s forearm pressed into Bofur’s throat again, slack enough to let his speak, as the king’s teeth bared. “Just like in the cave before we fell to the goblins, you didn’t inform me of his leaving.”

Bofur blinked. “You know about that?”

“I heard everything you two said to each other. Tell me, what kind of man doesn’t tell his leader of something as important as another of the company abandoning them? Not once, but twice.”

“Who was I to force him to stay?”

“That makes you guilty of treason on three counts.”

“He was doing what he thought was right, what would save our lives. Surely you can see that?”

“He betrayed me. Surely you can see that.” Thorin sighed. “I should never have allowed your relationship to become what it has. For you to defend his actions against me-”

“He didn’t want us to fight the elves and men, not over the gold you promised to give them.”

A dark chuckle came from Thorin’s mouth. “You weren’t listening when I told you all that this gold is ours, and ours alone. Though your share is now null and void. Even if I were to believe that you didn’t know he had the arkenstone, that still leaves you with two counts of treason.”

Bofur accepted the statement with no protest. Bifur and Bombur, at the least, wouldn’t let him go without.

“I should’ve left you back at the skinchanger’s home. Too late for that now…”

Thorin stepped back a few paces, and Bofur finally breathed easy. But then the point of a sword was suddenly at his throat, leaving him pinned to the cold stone wall again.

“Th-Thorin-“ Bofur’s eyes flickered from the blade to the king’s face a few times before settling on Thorin’s disturbing expression.

“You’re the honest sort, so you will answer my question truthfully.” Thorin’s expression was strange, and Bofur knew that whatever the question was, it would seal his fate. Thorin held his sword level, the blade’s tip nearly touching Bofur’s skin. “Say I do believe you, that you didn’t know Bilbo left with the arkenstone last night…”

Bofur closed his eyes for a couple seconds and tried to calm his rapidly-beating heart. Whatever Thorin was about to ask, he wouldn’t lie. He couldn’t. Thorin was right, he was an honest sort.

“What if he told you before he left, that he had it and he planned to give it to those not worthy of it, as way to barter for my gold? What would you have done?”

“Thorin-“

“Answer me!” Thorin roared.

Bofur flinched as the blade scratched his skin, enough to draw out a bead of blood.

“Would you have stopped him? Or would you have done what you did last night, and let him go?”

Bofur met the other dwarf’s eyes. He kept his mouth closed, not able to bring himself to say it. But his silence was all the answer Thorin needed. He trembled as the sword point slid down his throat, pushing down his scarf and revealing the fading bruise that had marred his neck for much of the journey.

The moment was tense as Thorin’s head tilted at the sight of the injury, and he looked back up to stare into Bofur’s eyes. Bofur held his gaze, determined to be brave in the face of all this. He couldn’t run, couldn’t talk his way out, so this was all he could do.

Thorin surged forward in an explosion of rage, angling the sword to sideways and pressing the flat of the blade against Bofur’s neck. He kneed Bofur in the stomach and punched him across the face before using both hands to secure the sword where it was.

Bofur didn’t dare try to fight back, or move in any other way. He felt the trickle of blood from under his chin where the sword edge had shallowly sliced when his head had turned from the blow.

“What the goblins did to you will be nothing to what I will do to you for your crimes!” Thorin hissed.

Bofur looked into the madness of Thorin’s eyes, and believed the threat, believed that Thorin would punish him for what he had done, believe that Thorin would make that punishment painful. Still, he couldn’t say anything.

“Thorin, no!” called out a voice from the stairs.

The two dwarves barely had time to glance over before Dwalin rushed at them, grabbing Thorin and pulling him away from Bofur. The sword clattered to the floor as Thorin struggled. Bofur took a few steps sideways along the wall, one hand going up to feel his neck as he took shaky breaths. In his shock, he took a misstep and fell, only to be caught by familiar arms.

“Get him out of here!” Dwalin said, still managing to hold Thorin back.

“ _I have you. Come on_ ,” Bifur said into Bofur’s ear, though he was glaring to the king.

“Get your traitorous cousin out of my sight!” shouted Thorin.

Bifur got Bofur up to his feet and half-dragged him away.

“I meant what I said! You will pay for your crimes against me!”

Thorin’s shouts of protest at being held back echoed around them, until Bofur and Bifur were out of earshot. Bifur didn’t let them stop until they had reached a safe distance, and pulled Bofur into a banking chamber.

Bofur leaned heavily over a table, breathing heavily. He didn’t complain as Bifur tilted his head up to look him over.

“ _He tried to…_ ” Bifur’s face darkened at the blood on his cousin’s neck. “ _He drew blood_.”

“It’s just a scratch. It’ll stop bleeding in a minute.”

Bifur’s hands curled into fists and he breathed in through clenched teeth. He turned to the door. “ _I should_ -“

“No, please.”

Bifur whirled back around to Bofur, his wild black hair only enhancing the rage on his face. “ _He was about to kill you_.”

Bofur licked his hand and wiped at the blood on his neck. He shook his head. “No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t going to kill me. He… he wants me to suffer.”

Bifur snarled and headed for the door.

“Wrong thing to say,” Bofur muttered. He grabbed the other dwarf around the neck from behind, like he usually did to calm him. “Bifur, no. Please don’t. Please, calm down. Settle down.”

Bifur didn’t throw Bofur off, though every muscle was screaming for him to leave.

“Please, don’t go after him. I don’t want- I don’t need him angry at you as well.”

“ _He had a sword at your throat, he drew blood, he wants you to suffer. I can’t allow that_.”

“I don’t want you ending up in the same position as me. Please.” Bofur let go and moved in front of his cousin. He wrapped his hands tightly around Bifur’s upper arms. “Let this go. Let’s just… just go back to the others.”

Bifur as quiet for a moment before replying, “ _You would be safer with all of us_.”

“Will you promise me you won’t go after Thorin? I need you to promise me.”

“ _He doesn’t deserve_ -“

“I’m not asking you to forgive him. I’m only asking you to not go after him. I couldn’t bear it if he hurt you because of me.”

“ _What if he comes after you again? You would ask me to stand by?_ ”

“Of course not. But I’m safe now, you got me away from him. I know… I know you’ll protect me.”

Bifur looked down, conflict evident on his face.

“Please, Bifur. Promise me?”

Bifur let out a long breath. Then he pulled Bofur forward to touch their foreheads together. “ _Promise_.”

Bofur closed his eyes in relief. “Thank you.”

Bifur moved a hand to lightly rub at the back of his cousin’s neck. “ _You are being honest when you say you’re fine?_ ”

“Shaken up, but yes, I’m being honest.”

“ _Promise?_ ”

“Aye, I promise.” Bofur broke away from Bifur with a little sigh. “We should get back to the others.” He didn’t add that he didn’t want to be in any place that could be vulnerable, and while Bifur would protect him from Thorin if the king came after him, he doubted his cousin would be enough to hold back Thorin in his enraged state.

“Can I ask one more thing of you?” Bofur asked as they left the banking room. “I don’t want the others to know what just happened, especially Bombur. Everyone’s been worried enough about me already since the goblins, and I’d rather not give them another reason to.”

“ _If that’s what you want_.”

“Thank you. I’m not still bleeding, am I?”

Bifur looked to the other dwarf’s neck and shook his head. “ _I take care of you, like you did for me_.”

“Aye, that you do.”

As they approached the other members of the company gathered near the stairs of the wall, Ori called out, “He found him.”

Bombur rushed towards them, pulling Bofur into a tight hug. “You were gone so long, we got worried.”

“Don’t worry,” Bofur patted his brother’s back. “I’m fine. Just needed a bit of a think to myself.” He followed Bombur and sat between him and Ori. He bit his lip as he noticed his hands were shaking, and his clasped them together and placed them between his thighs to hide that fact. Bifur started pacing in front of the three of them a few steps away, and Bofur knew not to disrupt his protective behavior. He also didn’t ask anyone for news on the battle. If there was word either way, they would’ve told him.

Bofur flinched at the tap to his shoulder from behind, and looked up to see Balin. The older dwarf invited, “Come, Dori made some tea while you were gone. You look like you could use some.”

Bifur nodded his approval and found a stone to sit on, though Bofur did feel his gaze following him and Balin as they went to the nearby guardhouse.

“He would make tea at a time like this,” Bofur said lightheartedly when he saw the pot of warm water on the small fire that gave off a nice aroma.

Balin half-smiled and filled two cups, handing one to Bofur. “You’re shaking like a leaf, laddie, and not from the cold.”

“You noticed? I thought I had hidden my hands well enough.”

“It wasn’t only your hands. Now drink up, it’ll help calm your nerves.”

Bofur steadied the cup in his still-trembling hands and drank the tea. It had a pleasant taste, not at all like Oin’s medicinal one that he felt he had had enough of on this journey to last a lifetime.

“You’re in shock,” Balin stated.

“I think I would know if I was in shock.”

Balin shook his head and sipped his tea. “Even if you weren’t shaking, I can see it in your eyes.”

Bofur leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, taking a long drink from his cup.

“Thorin found you went you off alone.”

Bofur’s eyes opened, though he stared down at his now-empty cup. He looked to Balin, and nodded a few times. Balin took the cup and refilled it, then pressed it back into his hands.

“He confronted you over Bilbo?” Balin asked.

“No point in trying to hide anything from you, is there?” Bofur teased, though his forlorn expression negated any lightness he had tried to achieve. He sighed and took a sip of the tea. “Aye, it was about him.” He unconsciously rubbed under his chin. “You could say the conversation wasn’t exactly… civil.”

Balin didn’t push for details, allowing Bofur the time to collect his thoughts.

“He… he accused me of treason.”

“For helping Bilbo get away?”

Bofur shook his head slightly. “For more than that.” He let out a long breath and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. He drank his cup empty again, but held on to it to give his hands something to do. He glanced up as Balin moved a small bench over to sit in front of him.

Bofur took a deep breath. “He thinks… he thinks I knew Bilbo had the arkenstone when he left last night, that the two of us have been planning this… He wouldn’t believe me when I said I didn’t know.”

Balin’s face fell into one of sympathy. “I’m sorry.” He paused. “Thorin… accused the wrong one of us.”

It took a few seconds for Bofur to register what the other dwarf said. “What?” Balin didn’t verbally response, but gave a look, one that Bofur knew the meaning of. “You knew?”

Balin nodded once. “Not about the plan to give the arkenstone to Bard and King Thranduil, but I… Bilbo came to me, implying in no uncertain terms that he had the arkenstone. He asked if it would stay Thorin’s madness for him to get it.”

“You told him no?”

“I told him that giving it to Thorin would only make him worse.”

“Worse? Worse than threatening and attempting to kill us?”

“Perhaps. Bofur, I am so sorry he targeted you.”

“No, it makes sense why he would. I love Bilbo, and I do think he did the right thing.” Bofur stared at the cup as he turned it over in his hands. “You know… I got the feeling he wasn’t telling me something when he left. He told me not to worry about it, that he didn’t want me in trouble with Thorin. He knew his plan was going to have repercussions, and Thorin still put his suspicions together about me, but why did he come back?”

“In case Thorin didn’t believe that Bard held the real arkenstone,” Balin quietly answered.

“He’s loyal, no matter what,” Bofur said. “How did we get to this point?”

Balin leaned forward to place a comforting hand on Bofur’s shoulder. “What matters now is whatever happens next.”

Bofur willed himself not to cry. He knew Balin wouldn’t mind, but… A few tears and a sob escaped anyway. Bofur dropped the cup to cover his face with his hands. Balin’s hand stayed on his shoulder, accompanied with a soothing, “Breathe. Just breathe.”

It took more than a few shuddering breaths to get himself under control. Though his eyes still stung with unshed tears when he looked up to Balin. “Pathetic, me crying over my own inner turmoil, compared to what’s happening outside.”

“No, my lad, it’s not pathetic. You’ve suffered on this quest. I suspect if Thorin had his way, you’d be suffering right now.”

“We all have.”

“You have, more than the rest of us, to protect us. You’re not being pathetic.”

They sat in companionable quiet for a few minutes, before Bofur requested, “You won’t tell the others about what happened with Thorin? It took some convincing for Bifur to agree to it after he got me away. I just… I don’t want any of you confronting him on my account.”

“I won’t tell. You won’t tell my confession?”

Bofur dried his eyes with his sleeve. “I would never do that to you.”

“Thank you.” Balin rose and asked, “Do you need any more tea?”

“No, I’m good. The others already worried about me once, we should get back.”


	12. Chapter 12

Everyone tensed at the figure of Thorin approaching them. Kili got up first and strode over to him, shouting, “I will not hide behind a wall of stone, while others fight our battles for us! It is not in my blood, Thorin.”

Bofur stood on the wall’s stairs, though he was the farthest from Kili, he wouldn’t hesitate to jump to the young princes’ defense if he was needed. To his surprise, Thorin’s face softened as he quietly responded to his nephew. Then Thorin walked past Kili, and the prince and Dwalin walked alongside.

“I have no right to ask this of any of you,” Thorin said to the company. His eyes met Bofur’s for a second before returning to look at the group. “But will you follow me, one last time?”

All the dwarves stood in answer, though Bofur knew in his heart he wasn’t doing this for Thorin, because Thorin asked him to. But Thorin wasn’t asking Bofur, or any of them to forgive him, only to follow him into battle. That was something Bofur could do, for Bilbo, Bard, and everyone fighting for their lives outside.

They quickly set up the huge bell. Bombur climbed to the top of the wall with a giant battle-horn wrapped around him, and blew. They released the bell, and when it came back after crashing the stone wall, they ran, weapons raised and shouting battle-cries.

“To the king! To the king!” Dain ordered his soldiers.

Thorin led the charge, the company in formation behind him. They met the line of orcs, Bofur snarling as his swung his hammer and killed an orc in one blow.

The battle passed mostly in a blur of blood and shouts for Bofur, the only clear part of it when he thought he had lost Bifur. He had found his cousin on the ground, bleeding from the space in his head where the axe had been. But Bifur somehow regained his senses quickly enough.

Bofur was never certain during the battle if their side was winning, or barely holding on, but it didn’t matter. He was determined to give it every ounce of strength he had to keep fighting.

“There’s more coming,” Ori informed as he spun and slashed an orc’s neck open. “From the north.”

Bofur glanced in that direction, and swallowed at the sight of another orc army charging towards them, accompanied by huge bats overhead. Suddenly he felt the sharp pain in his side and upper arm, the fatigue of every muscle. For the first time during the battle, he had a feeling of despair. They couldn’t win this, not with another entire army of fresh orcs arriving. With Dain’s forces diminished, the elves and men in Dale, and Thorin, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili gone up to Ravenhill, Bofur had no idea how they could hold this line.

Bofur picked up an orc sword from the ground and threw it into the back of an enemy going for Balin. Then he swung around, bringing up the shaft of his hammer above his head to block a blow coming down on him. One of the soldiers finished that orc off, and Bofur hurried over to Bombur’s side, who was swinging around a large chain mace he had found.

Bofur’s eyes occasionally flickered to the city under siege. The last he had seen of Bilbo, the hobbit had followed Gandalf into Dale. As much as he wanted to join the fighting there, Bofur knew he couldn’t abandon this line. Besides, making it over there alone would be impossible.

“Eagles!” someone cried out from nearby.

Bofur looked up, eye wide as the giant eagles who had saved them from Azog in the Misty Mountains came to their rescue again, engaging the bats, breaking up the incoming orc army, and causing overall mayhem for the orcs. Beorn dropped down from one, and shifted into his bear form to slaughter any orcs in his path. The sight drove Bofur to push himself harder to kill the remaining enemies around him.

When the remaining orcs were killed or fled from the field, Bofur dropped his weapon and pulled his brother and cousin into a tight hug. They rested their foreheads together, Bifur’s feeling strange without the axe that had been present for so long.

The company gathered together, and barely had time to look over and tend to their wounds, Bofur making certain Bifur and Bombur were taken care of, when an eagle landed in front of them. The wizard Radagast slid off, and Balin went to meet him. Bofur clenched his teeth to force the pain in his arm and side away enough so that his family and friends wouldn’t fuss over him if they were to be needed. An orc had somehow sliced through the chainmail over his upper arm and side at some point in the battle. The blade had gone through the clothing underneath and into his skin, though the chainmail was doing a good job of hiding the blood that had flowed down his arm and seeped through the fabric. The wounds weren’t life-threatening, so he would be fine for a few hours.

Balin came back to the company as Radagast went to walk through the battlefield. Bofur couldn’t stop himself from immediately asking, “Does he know where Bilbo is?”

Balin took a deep breath and nodded. “Ravenhill, and we all need to go up there.”

“Thorin’s summoning us?” asked Ori.

Balin shook his head, a terrible weight obvious on his shoulders. “Dwalin did.” He led them through the field and up the path to the top of Ravenhill. At the bank of the frozen river, near the waterfall, they saw their king. Bloody and beaten, unmoving.

Bofur put an arm around Bombur’s shoulders as they approached, and they kneeled, bowing their heads to their fallen leader. Fili and Kili weren’t here, which could only mean that had fallen as well, elsewhere in the watchtowers. None of them had to ask Dwalin for confirmation. They knew.

Bofur held tightly onto his brother as the other dwarf turned to cry into his shoulder. Hot tears stung his own eyes and streamed down his face. While his feelings on Thorin, considering the events of today, were confused and mixed, he hadn’t wanted him to die. And Fili and Kili… they definitely didn’t deserve to share their uncle’s fate.

Bofur glanced up and around, not wanting to stare at Thorin’s body, or at the other grieving dwarves. Two figures sitting on a ledge on the opposite side of the river caught his eye. Gandalf, and Bilbo. Bilbo noticed and gave a small smile across the distance, but Bofur needed to be close to him, hold him, know for certain he was alive and whole.

Bombur discerned Bofur’s change in mood and followed his gaze up to the ledge. “Go to him,” he encouraged. At the questioning look from Bofur, he added, “You’ve seen to us, now see to him. We’ll be fine.”

Bofur nodded and got to his feet. He ran for the stairs to that ledge.

Bofur and Bilbo froze for a brief second on a landing halfway up as they saw the other coming. Then they rushed to each other, Bofur falling to his knees as he reached his hobbit. He threw his arms around Bilbo’s middle, ignoring his injured arm’s protest at the movement, and buried his face into the warm chest. At the feeling of the heartbeat within against his cheek, he broke into sobs of relief, grief, and emotions he couldn’t put names to. His hands fisted in the back of Bilbo’s jacket as the hobbit’s arms went around his shoulders and pulled him close.

Bofur quickly tossed off his hat, and Bilbo lowered his head to rest it in the dwarf’s hair. Bofur felt tears mix in with the sweat in his hair, and cried harder.

They stayed like that, holding each other and crying together, pouring out their emotions without words, knowing the other had survived, knowing the other was safe.

Eventually, Bilbo slightly drew back and took Bofur’s arm to pull him up. He stopped at the hiss of pain from the dwarf. “You’re hurt.”

“Not life-threatening,” Bofur replied.

“Come on, let’s sit. Kneeling on stone can’t be good for you.”

“I’m not old, you know.” It had the desired effect of making the hobbit smile.

“Never said you were.” Bilbo pulled Bofur to the stairs, where they sat side-by-side.

They turned to each other, and Bofur leaned in to place a gentle kiss on a forming bruise around a cut on Bilbo’s forehead. A trail of dried blood went down from it, and Bofur traced it with a finger. Bilbo caught the dwarf’s hand and held it against his face.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing Bofur could find to say.

“Don’t. No apologizing.”

“I love you.”

“Better,” Bilbo responded with a half-smile. “I love you.”

Bofur brought his other hand up to caress the other side of Bilbo’s face, then went in for a kiss. The heavy feeling of guilt in his heart interrupted it. “I… I should’ve stopped Thorin from grabbing you sooner, not sent you out into the battle, not-“

Bilbo cut him off by initiating another kiss. “Not your fault, none of it,” he whispered when he pulled back to breathe. “I’m here, and so are you. It’s… well, it’s better than it could’ve been.”

“Aye… I suppose you’re right.” Bofur’s breath hitched in his throat. “Could’ve been worse.”

********

Bofur and Bilbo walked into the bedroom of the home they had been using since arriving in Erebor. Bofur was now dressed in a simple tunic over his pants and boots, having just finished with Oin in the healing tents. The gash on his upper arm had been stitched up and bandaged. The cut on his side had fared better, only needing a bandage. Bifur had given him a bit of a talking to for hiding the injuries as an elven healer tended to the wound on his head.

Bofur would be eternally grateful to Thorin for giving the hobbit the mithril armour shirt, for it had protected him from anything fatal. “A blow to head was all, the resilience of hobbits, indeed,” he teased, lighting the fire in the fireplace, kicking off his boots, then sitting on the edge of the bed.

Bilbo took off the blue jacket and folded it. “And what were you thinking, going into battle wearing your hat instead of a proper helmet?”

“In my defense, I wasn’t the only one. Besides, it made it easier for the others to spot me.”

“I suppose that’s a good enough reason.” Bilbo reached behind and pulled at the mithril shirt. “Help me?”

Bofur stood and pulled the armour up and over Bilbo’s head and arms. Bilbo took it and folded it, placing it on the jacket. Bofur back down and invited, “Come here,” while patting his lap. At the expression of concern towards his bandaged arm from Bilbo, he said, “I look forward to when I’m not injured in some way, so I don’t get that particular face aimed at me anymore. Though it is quite endearing.”

That put Bilbo at ease, and he climbed onto Bofur’’s lap to straddle his thighs. The mood turned melancholy, as they mentally sorted through what both would call the longest day of their lives. They closed their eyes and rested their foreheads together.

Losing not only Thorin, but the young princes as well had devastated all of the company’s members. The funeral was scheduled to be in three days, long enough to clean the battlefield and prepare their bodies. The rest of the fallen soldiers would be honoured as well.

Bilbo’s fingers nimbly undid the ties at the top of Bofur’s tunic. He kissed the exposed skin. Bofur copied the motion, undoing the buttons on Bilbo’s shirt. “I love you,” the dwarf whispered against the warm skin. Then they returned their foreheads together, nuzzling each other’s noses and cheeks.

Bilbo pulled back slightly to look Bofur in the eye. “Bofur?”

“Hm?”

“Balin mentioned to me that… that Thorin confronted you.”

Bofur could see the anxiety in the hobbit’s eyes, and nodded, deciding it was better to tell the truth.

“I’m sorry, I thought not telling you my plan would protect you.”

Bofur shook his head. “Not your fault.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Nothing worth mentioning. Besides, he’s… well…”

“He apologized to me when he died, for everything.”

“You were with him?”

Bilbo nodded.

“At least someone was.”

“I was there, when Fili… when Azog… I lost track of Kili, but when he didn’t come to Thorin’s side, I knew… I knew…” Bilbo broke into sobs, and buried his head into Bofur’s chest.

Bofur turned them to the side and laid down, clutching Bilbo tightly against him. The tears from his own renewed crying flowed down into the soft curly hair.

********

Once in the privacy of their room, after the funeral ceremony, while the feast was being prepared, Bofur pulled Bilbo into his arms and looked down into those warm eyes. When he didn’t say anything for a long moment, Bilbo prompted, “Bofur?”

“Sorry, I just… I love you, from your hairless face to your hairy feet.”

Bilbo lightly laughed, the sound at odds with his red-tinged eyes.

Bofur took a deep breath, and let it out slowly to steel his nerves for what he was about to say. “Bilbo, I know… I know it was always your intention to leave soon after our quest was over. But would you… would you, at least for a little while…” Bofur’s voice cracked. “Stay? Please?”

“Oh, Bofur,” Bilbo breathed. He craned his neck up to kiss the dwarf softly. “Yes.”

Bofur was somewhat shocked. Part of him had expected the hobbit to say no, to hurry back as quickly as he could to that warm and cozy home he had left behind in the Shire. “Yes?”

Bilbo wiped his eyes and clutched the front of Bofur’s tunic. “You think after all we’ve been through, I would leave you like that?”

“No, I mean- I-“ Bofur broke off as Bilbo yanked him into a harder kiss.

As soon as they broke apart for air, Bilbo stated, “You’re my dwarf, and I’m your hobbit. Even if everything that’s happened didn’t, I want us to stay that way. So yes, I’ll stay.”

Bofur smiled wide, and placed his hands under Bilbo’s thighs to pick him up. Bilbo jumped up and hooked his ankles around Bofur’s waist. They both closed their eyes as their foreheads touched.

From the first encounter of danger of the quest, through his torture at the hands of the goblins, to surviving the battle of the five armies, Bofur counted himself quite fortunate to have also found someone to love and who wanted to stay with him. Someone he would’ve traded all the gold in Erebor for. Someone he would’ve suffered all the personal consequences he had gone through over the journey again for.

Their breaths mingled together as Bofur whispered, “Always love you…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's read and left kudos and commented :)


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